


Mystrade Advent Story

by LadyThiggy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Prolly OOC, What Season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-09 15:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12890493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyThiggy/pseuds/LadyThiggy
Summary: A pretending to be lovers Mystrade Advent story to get me back in the swing of things. Just a light fluffy bit.Background Johnlock and Anthea/Molly.Rating might go up. Unbeta'ed.





	1. December 1st

"I beg your pardon Inspector, but I'm afraid I must have misheard you. You would like for me to do what?"

Greg fought the grin that was threatening to break free at his companion's response to his admittedly ridiculous request, but knew he was not entirely successful. "I highly doubt you misheard me, Mycroft, but I'm happy to to repeat myself. I would like for you to pretend to be my romantic partner at a holiday party on the 23rd so that I might show up my ex-wife."

"Surely there are better candidates than I for such a mission? Dr. Watson, perhaps."

"John is happily entangled with your brother now, as you well know, and I doubt he'd agree even if I agreed with your assessment. And even if I could persuade him, Sherlock causes enough disruption to my life without his believing I'm honing in on his blogger." 

"I suppose you have a point, Inspector. Still, I hardly think I would be anyone's idea of a come up in terms of a romantic partner. Maybe if I had a word with Anthea she might be willing to indulge you."

"Before or after she removes your bollocks for impertinence?" Greg asked, enjoying the grimace that passed over Mycroft's face. When there was no disagreement to his proclamation he continued; "Even if I thought Anthea a better choice than you, which I don't, I have it on very good authority that she is unavailable."

While Mycroft pondered that bit of information Greg took another sip of the fine whiskey he was only ever able to enjoy when he and Mycroft met at the Diogenes. Watching carefully he was able to see the moment the other man decided to switch tacks.

"I never would have thought that you would engage in an act so petty and obviously beneath you."

"Normally you would be right, but after the past year I've decided that for once I would like to take an opportunity to not be the grown-up. It does grow rather wearing, especially after so many years of always being the bigger person, as it were."

His answer was clearly not the expected one and Mycroft shifted in his seat before speaking again; "Still..."

Greg cut him off before he could continue. "I didn't approach you on a whim you know. I thought long and hard about my options and you are my only choice for this mission."

"What will you do if I refuse?"

"I haven't decided for certain yet, but in all likelihood I'll simply send my regrets. I could go alone, but I'm no longer as enamored with the concept of dressing up and attending fancy functions as I was when I was younger. At least not unless doing so will net me something worth the time and expense beyond having been seen at the 'right event'. I've no desire to advance my career any further and no reason to social climb. If you refuse I'll most likely simply stay home and enjoy a movie and a good curry."

Greg finished off his whiskey and walked to the side bar to pour another, if he got nothing else from this errand he was at least going to insure he left with a decent buzz. From the corner of his eye he saw Mycroft polish off his own drink. Without waiting for his approval Greg took the initiative to refill his as well before resuming his seat. The younger man was still mulling things over a fact which Greg held as victory, however minor, as he'd half expected to be tossed out without so much as a by your leave once the reason for this requested meeting became clear.

"All I would need to do is attend this one function with you?"

"That's all I'm asking, but if you wanted to attend any of the festivities I'm socially obligated to show my face at I wouldn't say no. Might even help us in the long run with selling our relationship as established on the big night. Of course that's assuming you agree to this at all and have the time."

The only response he received to that pronouncement was a quiet 'hmmmm'. He allowed silence to overtake them again as they sipped their drinks and studied each other. He wasn't going to push any further, Mycroft would agree or he wouldn't. He had come to the meeting assuming that the other man wouldn't, but now he thought there might actually be a small possibility that he might. Greg acknowledged to himself that it was a completely asinine plan, but he hadn't been lying when he said that he was tired of always being the adult. He had feeling Mycroft could sympathise even if he wasn't inclined to allow his more childish instincts to sway his decision. 

Greg nursed his drink as long as possible before conceding that he would not be getting an answer tonight, but felt better about his odds for it. He briefly considered, then dismissed, the idea of a third drink. He got chatty when tipsy and didn't want to risk whatever ground he may have gained so far. Swallowing the last of his drink he stood up before setting his glass on the small table by his chair. 

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Please let me know when you've decided."

Greg had made it to the door before Mycroft spoke again. It was the question Greg had prepared for the most and had anticipated occurring much sooner in the conversation. 

"Why me?"

"Because you won't take it the wrong way."

Greg hustled out the door before Mycroft could ask him to elaborate knowing that he wasn't yet ready to explain what 'the right way actually meant. The truth of the matter was that one-upping his wife was really only the secondary goal of his mad plan. The primary goal, of course, was to secure a date with the man he'd been interested in for years. Even if securing said date was under the most contrived of pretences. 

Stepping out into the chilly December air Greg made his way home with a feeling he hadn't dared to harbor before tonight; hope.

 

Mycroft remained seated even after his guest left. His last statement had been enigmatic at best, a fact which Gregory was most assuredly well aware of. There were any number of ways his closing remarks could be interpreted. Typically the D.I. made sure there was no mistaking his meaning. He was an honest man with no tolerance for politics, despite his ability to play well enough when his job required it. The fact that Gregory had left him to make his own interpretation was a curious, indeed intriguing choice.

Setting his drink aside, he pondered. Though it was only recently that he'd allowed himself to admit it, the truth of the matter was that he did find the Inspector terribly attractive. And for the first time in more years than he cared to reckon he had been giving serious consideration to doing something about that attraction. Now, should he choose to take it, he had an opportunity to do just that.

He also now had reason to believe that Gregory shared his attraction. There was no indication that he'd been untruthful in his explanations of this ludicrous scheme, but Mycroft sensed there might be more to it as well. It was the unofficial invitation for further socialisation that convinced him of that point. Finishing his drink he decided he would in fact grant his acquaintance this favor. That being so, he would gather more intelligence before informing the man. After all, if he was going to do this he was going to press every advantage he could find to convince him that they could have something more than a pretend affair.


	2. December 2nd

Mycroft had contemplated his next move throughout the day. The only benefit of Moriarty's brief return was that it had allowed him to lessen his role in day to day politics. A role he'd gladly left to his younger colleagues even after the madman had been dealt with. Indeed he'd already been considering such a move. His involvement with the Moriarty affair had simply provided much needed cover preventing the worst of the panic that would have insued had he tried during quieter times. Though he was by no means ready for retirement, it was in fact time to start passing the reigns over.

This of course left Mycroft with far more free time than he'd had in decades. A positive side effect was that he could now pursue more personal relationships. Before, such a thing would have been unthinkable even if there had been any candidates worth pursuing. He hadn't had the time. Now, however, he did and a rather delectable candidate to help him fill that time. 

The downside to his newly acquired freedom were the increased demands of his social calendar. Now that he was inching away from his role in the shadows he was expected to take a slightly larger role in ballrooms. Of course, like any decent strategist would, he was going to turn this inconvenience into an opportunity; which is how he found himself sitting in his car outside of the NSY anticipating a certain Detective Inspector. A Detective Inspector who was now walking out the front door. Exiting the vehicle he insured he would be readily visible and waited.

Mycroft knew the instant the older man noticed him. Though he was making a valiant effort to contain himself there was no possibility of Gregory hiding his happiness at Mycroft's appearance. As the man drew closer the politician held out his hand, drawing him closer than would be expected of mere colleagues, but not so close as to cause undue speculation. 

"Good evening, Inspector. I had some questions about your proposal and hoped you might join me for dinner in order to discuss them."

"I would be delighted," Gregory replied. 

"Excellent." Mycroft opened the car door and ushered Lestrade in before following suit and informing his driver that they would be going to dinner. Mycroft led the conversation through any number of inconsequential topics as they made their way through the city. The conversation flowed easily making the time spent in traffic less onerous than it would have been otherwise. When they pulled up in front of Mycroft's flat, it felt like hardly any time had passed at all. 

"I hope you don't mind, but I thought a certain level of privacy would be appreciated," he explained as they made their way upstairs. 

"Don't mind at all."

It was not the first time Lestrade had been to his home, but previously it had been all business; either cases that had intersected or, more frequently, something to do with Sherlock. Tonight though was purely social. Mycroft had every intention of using that fact to highlight what it would look like if Gregory agreed to be his beyond his suggested ruse. Once inside he hung up their coats before leading his unofficial date to the kitchen.

"Please have a seat, Inspec...Gregory," he corrected himself, gesturing to the cozy little table in the breakfast nook. "Since I worked from home today I decided to cook. It's not often I get the chance and take away looses it's charm when you eat it as often as I do." It would also gave him the added benefit showcasing his culinary talents. 

"A home cooked meal is a luxury in our line of work," Gregory agreed. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can pour the wine if you'd like," he replied. 

Leaving him to his task Mycroft carefully pulled out the bowls and bread that he'd left warming in the oven. He filled each bowl with a hearty ladle of stew and put the bread on a small carving board before ferrying the lot to the table. He was gratified to see Gregory sitting, allowing him to serve their meal. He was also pleased to see how generous he'd been with the wine. 

Once they were both seated Gregory raised his glass; "To a successful negotiation."

"Indeed," Mycroft said, joining his guest in the impromptu toast. He watched as Gregory took his first bite. The appreciative groan he let out would not be out of place in a pornographic film and Mycroft had to remind himself of the plan at hand. This was one operation that he refused to rush regardless of his desire for the end result. 

"Is there anything you're not good at, Mycroft? This is absolutely delicious."

"I'm glad you enjoy it, it's one if my favorite recipes. It's also, thankfully, one of the easiest."

"Mutton?"

"Yes. A bit old fashioned perhaps, but I find it's a wonderful way to cap off a dreary day such as this."

"It's perfect. And if the rest of your cooking is anywhere near as good, I'm more than happy to lend my company if you want. Though I should warn you that you might not get rid of me if you start feeding me meals like this more often."

As that was precisely what he had in mind, Mycroft merely smiled in reply before tucking into his own dinner.

They fell into an amiable silence as they ate their meal. Mycroft had said he had questions, but as he didn't seem to be in any hurry Greg didn't press him. Instead he allowed himself to relax and simply enjoy spending his evening with the man he'd grown to care for. There was little conversation as they ate and sooner than Greg would have liked they had finished. 

Once it was established that neither had room for pudding, Mycroft led them to a sitting room Greg had never been in before. His other visits to the flat had been strictly relegated to the office and he was fascinated by the new insights he was gaining from seeing the more personal spaces that the younger man occupied. There was hominess and lived in air that he never would have anticipated from someone so self contained. Despite the obvious luxury of the surrounds there was no mistaking that this was also a home.

A wave of nervousness washed over Greg as they settled on the setee with drinks in hand and a fire crackling merrily in the grate. They were coming to the moment if truth. There was not a doubt in his mind that he would be leaving tonight with an answer to his proposition. Whether or not it would be the answer he wanted now hung on his own answers to questions not yet asked.

"Time for the matter at hand, I believe."

"Yes, I believe you said you had some questions," said Greg, shifting to face his host who had shed his jacket and was a delight to view in shirt sleeves and waistcoat.

"You mentioned appearing at additional engagements..."

It wasn't technically a question but it was clear that Mycroft hoped for elaboration on the point. "If you've the time and inclination to do so I would certainly welcome your company at several other functions that I can not so easily get out of." 

Hopefully that was encouraging enough without overplaying his hand. After his earlier comment particularly he needed to watch himself. This was a long game and he had no intention of alerting Mycroft to his intentions too early in their play. As deeply as the other man cared Greg knew not to introduce any obvious sentiment before he was sure that it would be returned. 

"Should I agree to assist you in this manner, would you be willing to return the favor?"

"How do you mean?"

"I myself have my own social obligations during the holiday season and I dare say they could only be improved with your company."

Doing his best to appear outwardly calm, Lestrade did a mental jig. Helping out Mycroft in a similar fashion would only increase the time they spent together providing even more opportunities for furthering his aim. However, he shouldn't appear too eager less he startle the horses.

"If you wish for my escort, you need only ask. But I also wouldn't want to create any difficulties with your job if anyone took exception to the idea that you and I are dating, so to speak."

"I've not been in the closet for many years," he responded. "Though there are certainly still those who take exception they are generally smart enough to keep it to themselves these days. I was wondering more though if you would be bothered by the heightened scrutiny that would accompany a perceived romantic relationship with me."

Greg stopped to think about that. He hadn't really considered it before, but being seen socially with Mycroft in public would expose him on level that he currently didn't have to deal with. Curiously, now that he was considering it, it didn't bother him as much as he thought it might in different circumstances. 

"Do I even have a high enough security clearance to be considered by any of your associates as a believable romantic partner?"

Greg was delighted when his question actually made Mycroft laugh out right.

"It's high enough to be getting on with, I assure you," he answered. "Am I to take that as assurance that you wouldn't be bothered by the extra attention that goes hand in hand with being a known associate of mine?"

"Can't say it's a concept that fills me with joy, but I'll handle it if that's the price to be paid. I trust you'll help me if I'm about to step in it?"

"If you'd like, Though I wouldn't have brought it up at all if I didn't trust that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself."

Greg raised his glass at the compliment. "Ta for that." Again Mycroft joined his toast, drinking deeply before setting aside his glass.

"Onto a more delicate matter," Mycroft began, blushing ever so slightly. "How physical would you like to be? It's been awhile since I've embarked on any sort of romantic relationship, but I do recall a certain amount of affection typically tends to follow."

Greg felt himself blushing, then smiling in turn as Mycroft spoke. He'd given the topic thought, but only in terms of how it would help him achieve his real goal. It had been foolish of him to ignore the fact that Mycroft would question him about that aspect of the ruse. Setting aside his own glass he contemplated his response. 

"I suppose that would depend largely on you as I imagine we might have differing opinions on what constitutes an acceptable level of affection in public. For my money, Though, it's often the casual touches that say the most about a couple."

"Perhaps you might give an example, as I mentioned, it has been awhile."

To respond verbally or physically was the question at hand. Greg was fairly certain he had Mycroft's agreement and that they were simply hammering out details, but he didn't doubt for a moment that he might yet scupper that agreement if he bungled his response. He suspected there weren't many, if any, who felt comfortable casually touching the iceman. 

"I might for example, do this," he said, slowly draping his arm across the back of the setee and brushing Mycroft's shoulder gently with his thumb. The politician responded by shifting in his seat bringing his own arm up to lie atop Greg's and bringing their knees together. Emboldened, the D.I. lightly traced his fingertips along the other man's neck and playing with the hair at his nape aware of Mycroft's eyes on him the entire time. 

"I think such touching would be acceptable. Indeed, as we become easier in one another's company and with more practice, we might broaden our horizons as the situation calls for it."

"Indeed we might," Greg said, hoping that it wasn't obvious how far he was willing to expand said horizons if the chance came.

"Then I believe we have an accord."

"I'm pleased to hear it."


	3. December 3rd

Greg woke up with a huge smile on his face still thinking about the night before. Not only had Mycroft agreed to his childish scheme, but he'd secured his agreement to accompany him to his other holiday parties as well. Not to mention that he had finally been able to put his hands on the gorgeous man. Granted that bit hadn't lasted long before they had buckled down and worked out the nitty gritty of balancing both of their social calendars on top of their jobs. Still he had touched Mycroft. 

Almost more amazingly, sorting out their schedules had not been the headache he thought it would. His own work schedule was decidedly light for December. Thanks to Moriarty, he'd not only been forced to put in an absurd amount of overtime, but he hadn't been able to take any of his PTO. It was mid-November before that situation had been satisfactorily resolved. Despite desperately wishing he could take the time off he'd resigned himself to getting a check for the unused hours; assuming that he'd never get approved for time off during the holidays. So imagine his surprise when December's schedule was put out and he was down for only minimal desk hours. When he questioned it he was told simply that he'd been payed more than enough that year and he was to focus on cleaning up the backlogged paperwork from all of the non-Moriarty related cases he'd worked. Lestrade didn't mention it again for fear of jinxing his goid fortune.

Mycroft, it turned out, was also working less. Something that pleased Greg no end as it promised plenty of time with the man who held his affections. His explanation also made Greg realise that now was probably a very good time for him to make his own decisions regarding work. Not retirement yet, but he wasn't getting any younger and it was definitely time for something to give. Especially if his plan to win over the British Government proved successful.

Greg had just gotten out of the shower when there was a knock on the front door. He quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed his sidearm. 

"Who is it?" he yelled, heading towards the door.

"It's Mycroft," came the much softer reply. "Is now a bad time?"

Swearing under his breath he opened the door just wide enough to let Holmes through hoping he couldn't read the wank he'd just enjoyed from the way he gripped his towel or some such nonsense. Closing the door, he turned to face his guest who seemed at a loss of where to look. Luckily Mycroft did not seem to be disappointed with what he saw. Though he did eye the gun in his hand with more than a little understanding.

"If now is a bad time, Gregory, I can come back later."

"No, it's not a bad time. Just give me a moment to sort myself out," he said, hurrying to his bedroom to dress and store his weapon. 

Glad that he'd shaved in the shower, Greg through on his favorite pair of denims and the green jumper he'd charged to Sherlock's card two years ago. He'd originally nicked his wallet simply as payback for all of the warrant cards, but then the overgrown child had made a snarky remark when he'd returned it. Apparently it only counted if he used his ill gotten gains to further his advantage, so he'd nicked Sherlock's wallet again and treated himself to a couple of nice things. The sweater had been the best investment from his mini shopping spree. The netflix account, which had miraculously not been cancelled, being a very close second. 

Not bothering with shoes, he went to greet his guest properly. Greg found him in his tiny kitchen setting out the coffee and pastries he hadn't noticed Mycroft carrying when he first saw him. He did notice, though, that Mycroft appreciated him in his casual wear almost as much as he had the towel. Something that caused Greg to do his mental jig again before taking a seat at the tiny island that doubled as his table.

"Mycroft, to what do I owe the pleasure of both your company and breakfast? Please tell me it's something nice and not trouble with the consulting pain in the arse."

"Seeing as we both currently have lighter work loads, I thought it might be a good idea to spend some more time together. If we're to be successful in convincing your ex-wife that we're a happy and established couple, we'll need to be much more familiar with each other, don't you agree?"

Smiling, Greg took the cup of coffee he was offered with a muttered 'ta'. Becoming more familiar with Mycroft was exactly what he wanted. And if Mycroft wanted to expand that familiarity beyond the dates they'd already set up he wasn't going to argue. In fact he took a bite of the pastry he'd also been handed to insure he didn't say anything to spoil this new development.

"I also hoped you would allow me to take you shopping."

Greg startled a bit at that pronouncement. He knew he couldn't afford the same quality as Mycroft, nor did he have the same interest in fashion, but at the end of the day he dressed pretty well for a copper. Better than some of his higher payed colleagues even. Not quite sure how to respond he took another bite of pastry and trusted Mycroft to let his deductions carry his side of the conversation. 

"Please believe when I tell you I have no complaints about either your wardrobe or your presentation, but I do have certain standards to maintain. None of my acquaintance would believe we were together for a moment if we appeared at the more formal events with you clothed from your current options."

Greg was about to reply when Mycroft continued after taking a sip of tea.

"Not, I stress this point, because they believed I thought your sartorial choices beneath me, but rather because of my reputation."

"Reputation?" he asked. He doubted Mycroft had meant to insult him, unlike Sherlock, Mycroft rarely did so intentionally, still his words had stung. Sure Mycroft was posh, but Greg hadn't pegged him as being an unmitigated snob. Hopefully further explanation would prove him correct.

"Yes, I have a reputation for spoiling the few people in my life that I care about."

Greg admitted to himself that he wasn't surprised by that concept, but it raised another question entirely.

"I thought you said you didn't date very often. How would anyone know how you treat a lover?"

"I said people I care about," he repeated, stressing the word people. "My underemployed brother lives in central London with his equally underemployed boyfriend, dresses in designer clothes, owns state of the art laboratory equipment, and has private health care."

"I thought it was family money."

"Who do you think manages that money?"

"Touchè," he responded ruefully. "Even so, that's your brother."

"Anthea drives a Porsche," Mycroft countered. "Besides, there's precedent for my purchasing clothing for you."

Greg shoved the last bite of pastry in his mouth as he mulled that last bit over. To the best of his knowledge Mycroft had never bought him an article of clothing. It took Mycroft pointedly looking at his jumper for him to make the connection. 

"You pay all of Sherlock's bills, don't you."

"Naturally," he replied, looking far more amused than Greg had ever seen him. And all that being said, he couldn't bring himself to deny him, especially if it made Mycroft smile that small, honest smile again. Even so, he was not about to agree without a few ground rules. 

"I'm not letting you buy me an entire wardrobe."

"Naturally not," he said, this time eyeing Greg's denims.

"I choose the stores."

"May I make some suggestions?"

"Yes, but the final decision is mine."

"Except for the tuxedo."

"Tuxedo?"

"The ball that we're attending to spite your ex-wife is black tie, is it not?"

"Ye-es."

"And it is Christmas."

"Well, yes, wouldn't be so many parties if it weren't."

"And people typically give and receive presents at Christmas time."

"Yes, but--"

"Well that settles it, then. Consider today's shopping your Christmas present."

Mycroft looked so pleased with himself that Greg decided to just go with it for now. He could always figure out how to get out of it later. The rest of the argument had been rather logical after all. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was being conned somehow.

"Let me finish breakfast and put on some shoes and then we can head out."

"I've the entire day so please take your time, Gregory."

 

Mycroft returned home that evening quite pleased with the days advances. Particularly when he'd almost bungled things right off the bat. First there was the oggling when the Inspector had opened the door in norhing but a towel. Then his reaction at Gregory's having armed himself to answer the knock of an unexpected guest. And of course his unintended insult when he proposed the shopping excursion. 

He hadn't been lying when he said he didn't have a problem with Greg's clothes. He'd been less honest when he said his associates wouldn't, but their standards were often so ridiculously high in the instep that it was best not to attempt to cater to them. He also hadn't lied about spoiling his loved ones, Anthea's shoe allowance alone testified to that. Still, offering to buy a man like Gregory clothing was a delicate matter. Which in his distraction had tackled with all the tact of Sherlock on a bender.

Gregory was proud in the best sense of the word and Mycroft had come perilously close to trampling all over that pride. The Detective Inspector did well with his resources, but his resources ran to durable, comfortable choices that didn't always fit as well as they might. Mycroft long suspected that Gregory would buy better, a suspicion confirmed by the jumper. When first made he'd assumed the purchase was motivated entirely by the opportunity to annoy his brother. Seeing him in it today it was obvious that it was worn regularly and well cared for. It was equally obvious that it was something Gregory enjoyed wearing. The same could not be said of the rest of his wardrobe.

Thankfully he'd been able to recover and the rest of the day had gone far better. Since he truly wanted Gregory to wear and enjoy his new clothes, abiding by his rules had been easy enough. As had thwarting his attempts to avoid being gifted a new tuxedo. The trip to the tailor had been a bit fraught at first, but they'd managed a reasonable compromise once there; Mycroft was allowed to advise on the cut, but the fabric choices were left entirely to Gregory. 

The day had been enjoyable. Not only did he get to treat a man whom he cared about, but he got to see Gregory in an array of beautiful garments that properly framed his natural attractiveness. There was also the touching required to help him in and out of jackets or to point out a particularly fine bit of tailoring. All in the name of gentlemanly manners and practice for the big night.

It also allayed the secret fear Mycroft harbored that prolonged exposure to each other's company would turn them off one another. Either Gregory would prove to be too dull or annoying during an extended outing, or, much more likely to Mycroft's mind, the Inspector would realise he was far more trouble than he was worth. The politician had a healthy acquaintance with his peculiarities and it wouldn't be the first time a potential lover had ruled him out as same because of them. Thankfully neither of those things proved to be the case, even after twelve hours together. There were still nineteen more days to go, but Mycroft was hopeful.

He sighed when his text alert went off. He was not in the mood to deal with his brother currently and couldn't imagine who else would be texting him on his private line at this time of night. Opening his messenger he was pleasantly surprised to see that it was actually from Gregory. 

Watching netflix and thinking of you. -- Greg 

Mycroft laughed at that. He was still contemplating his reply when another text came through.

Thank you. For everything. -- Greg

Given how far in debt he was to the older man, Mycroft struggled with a proper reply. In the end he stuck with simplicity rather than risk revealing too much too soon. 

You're very welcome, Gregory. -- MH


	4. December 4th

Greg spent the morning attacking his backlog with a with a zeal never before seen. Figuring no one would raise a fuss if didn't actually show up for all of his shifts this month as long as all the 'i's got crossed and all that. Motivated as he was, he still found himself occasionally distracted by thoughts of Mycroft's reaction when he received the surprise Greg had arranged. 

It was during what Lestrade had decided would be his last case for the day that his phone finally rang. Turning his chair towards the window in order to hide the soppy grim he was undoubtedly sporting from any who might look in his office. Doing his mental jig again, he answered. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I hope you're having a lovely day."

"I am indeed, Gregory, in no small part thanks to you."

"I'm glad to hear that," he replied. "It's always nice to hear that you've made someone's day just a little bit brighter."

"Indeed, the flowers you sent have made the tasks I'm dealing with all the easier to bear. It is both a lovely, and interesting, arrangement. May I ask if you chose them yourself?"

"That I did." Greg was hoping he would notice. He'd actually looked up the meanings of a lot of flowers before he'd found the perfect combination. He also thought it would be better received than some of the more traditional offerings. It was a bit early for roses after all. "Bet you didn't think a copper like me could put together something so pretty."

"On the contrary, I've long suspected that you've a finer eye for form and colour than you typically exercise. Yesterday and today have only proven my hypothesis correct. Truly it is the most beautiful arrangement I have ever been gifted."

Greg's mental jig became a physical one as he wiggled in his seat at Mycroft's words. He'd been slightly concerned that it might be a bit soon for such an obvious step, but after yesterday his confidence that this could become real had grown. They'd spent the entire day together, sharing three meals, and Mycroft had genuinely seemed to enjoy himself. Even if he'd only agreed to Lestrade's plan as a favor, they were getting along very well. 

"I'm flattered you think so, and I'm happy I could make your day a brighter one."

"Please stop speaking before I vomit, Lestrade."

Whirling his chair around he stared at the consulting Detective who had snuck in while he was distracted and was now perched in the chair opposite. Greg momentarily froze under Sherlock's scrutiny. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do to hide his new clothes; nor did he doubt that Sherlock had overhead a fair bit of his conversation. 

"My...dear, I'm afraid something's come up," he said into the phone.

"Yes, I heard. It's just as well as I need to get to a meeting. I will see you tomorrow night, Gregory."

"Tomorrow," he agreed before hanging up the phone. "Sherlock, what have I told you about knocking?"

"Deleted, along with most of the nonsense you spout."

"Good to know," Greg shot back sarcastically. 

"You're dating again. And you really like this one."

"It's none of your business, Sherlock."

"Anything that effects the work is my business and your bungling of another romance is sure to do that."

"Though you probably deleted it, I do remember telling you that I've been pulled off of active duty for the month. There is no 'work' right now that involves me. At least not beyond clearing up the paperwork that you never help me with. It's also rude of you to assume that I'm going to botch things up."

"Your romantic history says otherwise."

Not for the first time Greg wished he could give the lad a good chinning. Especially because the bastard was right. His ex-wife was the prime example, but he hadn't faired much better after the divorce. Granted a large part of that was due to his enduring fancy for the man he now might actually have a shot with; a shot that hadn't been previously available. 

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

"I came here for a case."

"I don't have any cases."

"Wrong. You've just handed me a phenomenal case."

It took Greg a minute to connect the dots and by the time he did the other man was almost to the door.

"Sherlock, no, my personal life is not a case!"

"Goodbye, Lestrade."

Watching him leave, the D.I. could only shake his head and hope this didn't lead to disaster. Deciding to pack it in for the day he rang John. 

"Fancy a pint?" 

 

'Your brother is in your office' was rarely a phrase Mycroft enjoyed hearing. It was particularly irksome today. The meetings he'd been forced to attend had been tedious in the extreme. He'd also hoped to avoid Sherlock for the immediate future; at least until he'd sorted everything out with Gregory. 

His brother had his feet propped on the desk, studiously ignoring the flowers arrangement sitting prominently on the side table. 

"Brother, mine," Mycroft said by way of greeting. 

"Blud."

Mycroft took his seat knowing that Sherlock would speak when he was ready and not a moment before. He took the opportunity to study his brother. Despite the stresses of the past year he looked better than he had in decades. He was certainly happier than Mycroft had ever seen him; healthier too. Clearly John Watson's doing. Now that that horrible woman was out of the way, their relationship was flourishing and Mycroft honestly couldn't be happier for them.

"That's an interesting flower arrangement."

"It is, isn't it."

"Friendship, loyalty, inspiration, not your typical holiday bouquet." 

Mycroft knew, of course, what the flowers meant, a fact Sherlock knew. What remained to be seen was whether or not Gregory knew what they meant. When he'd called the Inspector he was hoping to ascertain as much. Unfortunately his brother had interrupted them before he could.

"I think it's uniqueness makes it all the more attractive."

"Hmmm."

They fell back into silent contemplation of one another. Mycroft had just pulled out the latest report on Brexit, when Sherlock finally stirred. He didn't speak on his way out, but he did liberate one of the flowers. For the first time in his life Mycroft was uncertain what his brother was thinking.

 

Sitting at The Three Feathers, Greg and John were deep in their second pints before John brought up the elephant in the room. 

"So what's tonight about?"

Greg took a long draught as he thought through the best way to answer. He would like to get John's opinion, but he also knew whatever he told John would eventually be known by Sherlock as well. As far as Lestrade was concerned Sherlock already knew too much.

"Come on, I promise not to tell Sherlock," John said.

"You and I both know you won't have to." 

Smiling ruefully John conceded the point with a mock toast. "Still, something is clearly up or you wouldn't have called me for a drink. There's got to be something you can tell me."

"I'm seeing someone."

"Good on you, mate."

"Thanks." Greg finished his pint and signalled for two more. 

"And..."

"And I really like them. And Sherlock knows. He heard me talking to them when he stopped by the Yard earlier. He then left thanking me for the case I gave him."

"Oh, you gave him a case, well that's good."

"He was talking about my..." He hesitated. Mycroft wasn't his boyfriend nor any other word he might use to reference him. "...love life."

"That's less good."

"Yeah."

They turned their attention back to their pints. In his mind Greg ran through all of the many ways Sherlock might wreak havoc on his burgeoning relationship with his older brother. They were not pleasant thoughts and he cursed the fact that he hadn't locked the door. Not the locks meant anything to Sherlock, but he might have heard him coming.

"Well I'll do my best to keep him distracted."

"Thanks, mate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my hoped for daily postings are unlikely to happen, but I will do my best to keep close to the date. Then again I've never had an advent calendar I properly kept up with.


	5. December 5th

Mycroft was nervous. It was a preposterous notion given how much time he and the Detective Inspector had spent together recently. Even so, tonight was their first outing as a 'couple'. The event was a fairly casual one, comparatively, so shouldn't prove taxing for either of them; just a small cocktail party held by the department for which he officially worked. And yet, as the car drew closer to the Inspector's flat Mycroft found himself fidgeting with his appearance. 

"Stop it, sir. You look fine," Anthea said from the seat across from him, barely looking up from her blackberry. 

Another sign of his discombobulation. He'd forgotten she was in the car with him. The car pulled up in front of Gregory's building before he could respond. Giving her one of his iciest looks, he stepped out of the car, intending to go up to collect his date. He found that was unnecessary as the man himself came striding out the front door. 

They met in the middle of the sidewalk. Upon offering his hand, Mycroft found himself pulled into a brief embrace. He hoped dearly that he hadn't imagined the brush of lips against his cheek as the other man pulled away. He also hoped Gregory had missed how deeply Mycroft had inhaled during the interlude. The man smelled delicious. 

"Good evening, Mycroft."

"Good evening, Gregory," returned Mycroft. Placing his hand in the small of the Inspector's back, Mycroft guided him to the waiting vehicle. "I hope you don't mind, but I agreed to give Anthea a lift as she is required to attend as well."

"Not at all," Lestrade replied, allowing Mycroft to open the door and usher him inside. Once both of them were settled Mycroft gave the order and they were off. And if Mycroft was sitting closer to Gregory than strictly necessary, it was nobody's business but his own. Not, of course, that that fact stopped Anthea from giving him a knowing smirk the one time she looked up from her phone.

They arrived at the hotel where the party was being held in good time. Anthea abandoned them as soon as their coats were secure with an off hand comment about finding her own way home. Mycroft lost sight of her almost immediately. Not that he was disappointed by that fact. 

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the ballroom where the festivities were taking place. Smiling brightly, Gregory countered by offering his arm. Chuckling quietly Mycroft took it and together they waded into the fray.

 

Greg couldn't be more pleased with how the evening was going. Watching Mycroft navigate through the expected niceties while simultaneously leaving them with plenty of time to chat to themselves was positively awe inspiring. He considered it a bonus that he'd been there to witness the look of surprise on the younger man's face when he spotted Anthea's date; Molly Hooper. Greg had distracted him quickly, murmuring in his ear a reminder that he'd told him Anthea was unavailable. 

Now, however, the evening was drawing to a close and once again he found himself bundled into the back of one of Mycroft's town cars. Disappointingly, Mycroft was not sitting as closely as he had on the ride earlier. Not only that, but he had fallen curiously silent and was now turned away from Greg, staring out the window.

The silence itself wasn't necessarily a tell. They'd often been comfortably silent in each other's company over the years, but this felt different. Especially after the easy camaraderie of the past several days. Tentatively, Greg reached across the seat to take Mycroft's hand. 

"Penny for your thoughts."

Watching his reflection, Greg saw the slight grimace that passed over the other man's face. Over the years he'd learned to interpret that look. It was a sure sign that Mycroft didn't like the direction his thoughts were headed. Had they been facing one another Greg was equally sure that Mycroft would never have given that away.

He didn't push, Mycroft would share or he wouldn't. Instead Greg focussed on memorising the feel of Mycroft's hand in his. The long, elegant fingers, the strength belied by delicacy and regular manicures. Without thought he began tracing those fingers with his own, sliding them in and out of each one, running his thumb across the palm. Content in his explorations he startled when Mycroft finally spoke, still turned towards the window. 

"I noticed that you actively steered us away from the mistletoe that was hung in various places."

"We haven't discussed kissing. I didn't want to put you on the spot," he answered carefully, looking at their continued hand play. It was true, it just wasn't the full truth; that Greg did not want their first proper kiss to take place in a room full of strangers. Hedging a bit, he continued; "I also wasn't sure how comfortable you would be engaging in a crowded ballroom."

For the first time since they left Greg had the younger man's full attention. As far as he was concerned the ball was in Mycroft's court. The D.I. was almost desperate to kiss the politician. Especially since their short hug earlier in the evening when he'd brazenly kissed his cheek. Still, in this instance it was better to let the other lead.

They pulled up to Greg's building before he got a response. Reluctantly he disentangled their hands and stepped out of the vehicle. Surprisingly, Mycroft followed him. The silence as they walked up to his flat was far different from what they'd shared in the car. Reaching his door Greg hesitated. Thankfully Mycroft stepped into the breach.

"I've no objection to kissing you, Gregory. I never would have agreed to this if I did."

"Well that's a relief. I'd hate it if I made you uncomfortable."

"Your consideration for my comfort is commendable," Mycroft said, stepping closer. "Perhaps we should practice before hand. It wouldn't look well in front of your ex-wife if we employed the same avoidance technique at the pinnacle event."

"No," Greg agreed; "it wouldn't."

Slowly, giving Mycroft plenty of time to put him off, Greg placed his hand on the other man's cheek and leaned in. The first brush of lips was as brief as his earlier kiss. When Mycroft stepped even closer, Greg kissed him again, this time with far more confidence. It was soft and delightfully returned. They kissed a third time before Mycroft stepped back.

"Something tells me we'll be entirely convincing by the big night. Goodnight, Gregory."

"Goodnight, Mycroft."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I severely overestimated how quickly I would be able to write this given my schedule and how out of practice I am. That being said, I hope to have it completed by Twelfth Night. Thank you for reading and all your kudos. With any luck the next chapter will be up later tonight.
> 
> It is also looking likely that the rating will go up.


	6. December 6th

"When you asked me to assist with a sensitive matter, this is not what I was expecting," Mycroft said, eyeing the new additions to Greg's flat dubiously. "You do recall I have to travel to Ireland tomorrow to iron out the border issue?"

Even as he spoke, Mycroft moved further into the flat, allowing Greg to take his umbrella, coat, and briefcase. 

"A situation you could handle in your sleep," shot back Greg, placing Mycroft's things carefully on a chair by the door.

"If only they'd let me. Between Brexit and a questionable coalition in parliament, the Belfast Agreement nearly went up in flames. That still doesn't address my original point."

"It's early yet and you already admitted that you were ready for the trip and had no plans this evening."

"Be that as it may, I'm still unsure as to the 'sensitive matter' for which I'm meant to be lending my assistance."

"Oh I don't know about that, why don't you try deducing it?" Greg teased, watching as Mycroft began poking at the boxes that had been brought up from the storage closet.

He received a tart: "You are not amusing, Gregory." in response. Greg merely grinned. He'd been on cloud 9 since last night's kiss. Not even Mycroft's feigned ignorance of his plans for the evening could bring him down. The idea had come to him during breakfast and the D.I. had spent all day preparing. 

Their was a break in their stand off when Greg ran downstairs to collect their dinner. When he returned upstairs, Mycroft was looking at the tree Greg had set up in the corner as if it were one of Sherlock's experiments. Greg just grinned even harder, setting their dinner down on the coffee table before collecting everything else they would need from the kitchen.

"At least join me for dinner before you fabricate an international crisis in order to leave," Greg said, arranging their meal. 

"Very well," Mycroft replied reluctantly, finally turning away from the tree. He stopped again when he saw the carrier bags. Greg's mental jig made an appearance, glad that he'd remembered Mycroft's favorite restaurant correctly. "Gregory?"

"If you're wondering if this is a shameless bribe, chosen specifically to encourage you to stay, then you would be right!"

"I'm not sure there's a bribe sufficiently large enough to induce me to stay," Mycroft said, finally taking a seat on the couch next to Greg, who was quite pleased with how close he'd chosen to sit.

"Didn't peg you as a grinch," countered Greg.

"Magnusson."

Well that took the wind right out of his sails. Mycroft may not be a grinch, but he had worse holiday memories than most. Trimming a tree together was a lovely little scene in his mind, particularly given how much mistletoe played in his imaginings, but he'd forgotten that Mycroft might be reminded of that horrible night. A night he wasn't even supposed to know about and wouldn't if it hadn't been for an extremely drunk John Watson. 

"I'd for--"

"My apol--"

They both tried to speak at the same and stopped. Thankfully that eased the tension a bit. Greg smiled shyly, offering the other man the plate he'd fixed for him. Mycroft took it with a small smile of his own. They ate quietly for a bit before Mycroft tried again.

"Do you always decorate for the holidays?"

"Haven't for the past several years," he responded after swallowing his bite. "Between living alone and the hours I work, hadn't really seen the point. I thought it might be nice this year since I'll actually have time to enjoy it."

They lapsed once more into a silence that was growing less fraught the further they became removed from the earlier awkwardness. Slowly they finished their meal, occasionally commenting on the quality or their days. It wasn't the light hearted dinner Greg had envisioned, but it was still nice to have Mycroft sitting so close to him sharing a meal.

 

When the meal concluded Mycroft excused himself to the loo. After he attended to the necessities he took a moment to regroup. Gregory had planned what should have been a pleasant activity and he had, if not ruined it, then at least put a damper on the festivities. Not that he'd meant to, but he didn't have many fond memories of Christmas. He didn't truly object to decorating a Christmas tree, it just wasn't something he usually did.

He heard the Inspector cleaning up their dinner while he rallied in the washroom. Another surprise. He'd mentioned his fondness for the restaurant once, in passing, seven years ago. The fact that Gregory remembered was heartening. The fact that he wasn't sure what he should do now was not.

He washed his hands and went back to the living room. Gregory had not only cleared the table, but had stacked the boxes of Christmas decorations to the side as well. It was obvious the man was willing to forgo his original plan simply to make Mycroft more comfortable. He was pulled from his thoughts when Gregory came out of the kitchen carrying two glasses of whiskey.

"I poured you one, if you're able to stay a bit longer, that is," Gregory said, before abandoning the glasses on the table and escaping to the loo.

Mycroft took a sip from one of the drinks. Then, before he could rethink his choice, pulled the box of fairy lights towards the tree and began emptying it. He had already checked half the strands by the time Gregory rejoined him.

"I'm afraid you'll regret asking for my assistance before this is over. I haven't decorated a Christmas tree in many years."

"Neither have I, but I'm confident we'll do alright if we work together."

Mycroft snorted at that, but continued with his task. After Gregory took a sip from his own drink, he began stringing the lights through the tree. One hour, two whiskeys, and more than a few curse words later they had a fully decorated Christmas tree. They hadn't spoken much beyond coordinating their efforts, but Mycroft felt all the more more relaxed for it.

When they were finished, they stood back and admired their efforts. Gregory had even turned all the other lights off for the "proper effect". As they stood side by side in the middle of the living room Mycroft had to admit they'd done a fair job of things. It wasn't the picture perfect aesthetic he was typically exposed to yet it was lovely all the same.

"I, uh, did a bit of decorating before you came over."

"Yes, I noticed the wreath on the door."

"But did you notice the other bit?"

There was a tone in Gregory's question that he didn't quite follow. Still he diligently observed the rest of the room. Based on the Inspector's body language he was confident the additional decoration could be seen from his current vantage point. After thoroughly scanning his surrounds he still saw nothing. 

He was about to admit defeat when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Looking up he spotted it. Hanging right over there heads was a clump of mistletoe. Now reminded of their kiss from last night, he licked his lips.

"You did say we should practice."

"That I did, Gregory. That I did."


	7. December 7th

Greg was sitting in his office struggling through his paperwork. He kept getting distracted by thoughts of his and Mycroft's 'practice'. Once Mycroft had become aware of the mistletoe he had not been at all shy in his practice. He'd confidently pulled Greg into his arms and snogged the daylights out of him. It hadn't lasted long, but quality over quantity, right. And the few kisses they had shared been of the highest quality. 

His mobile rang, pulling him from his thoughts. Distracted as he was, he didn't check the caller I.D. before answering. "D.I. Lestrade."

"Graham, I need back up! I'll text you the address!"

Greg was out of his seat before Sherlock hung up on him. Grabbing his coat and keys he ran out the door, hoping he could prevent whatever shenanigans Sherlock was involved in from spinning out of control. Neither he nor Mycroft had time right now to clean up his messes right now.

The address Sherlock had given him was a warehouse in a questionable part of town. Not the worst place he'd ever followed the young man, but not the safest either. Lestrade had been texted further directions en route and he followed them now making his way cautiously to the back door. 

The door was slightly ajar and Greg eased his way through it wishing he was armed with more than just his mobile phone. He crept through the darkness cursing the day he'd ever met Sherlock Holmes. He'd just reached the room the consulting Detective had directed him to when he heard someone behind him. Lestrade was knocked unconscious before he could turn around.

 

Mycroft had just concluded his final meeting when Anthea pulled him aside. "There's been an incident with Sherlock and Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Status?"

"Stable, but we need to return to London right away. I've already made the arrangements."

"Understood."

With more patience than he felt, Mycroft went through the time consuming process of excusing himself from the gathering. After much handshaking and assurances he made his escape. An hour after that he was on the plane reading the incident report.

By the time he reached St. Bart's he was more than a little annoyed with his little brother. Gregory becoming injured during the normal course of his job was unfortunate enough; the situation Sherlock had orchestrated this time was simply intolerable. He strode down the corridor cursing the late hour and his brother with equal fervor. 

Upon reaching Gregory's room he took a deep breath to calm himself before knocking softly on the door. When he didn't get a response he quietly opened it and let himself in. Seeing Gregory unconscious in a hospital bed served to renew his anger at his brother. Outwardly retaining his calm he pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. Sitting down he took Gregory's hand in his and settled in to wait.


	8. December 8th

It was gone three a.m. when Gregory finally stirred. Mycroft sat forward, squeezing the man's hand he watched as his eyes slowly opened. The government official preemptively shushed the man when he would have tried to speak. He waited until Gregory's eyes focused before speaking. 

"You were knocked unconscious and have sustained a minor concussion. While unconscious you were also dosed with a low grade poison. Nothing that will cause serious harm, but you well feel unwell for several days at least."

"Sherlock?"

Mycroft hesitated, unsure of how much to share given Gregory's current state. He finally settled on a limited truth. "He's currently well."

"The case he was working on?"

"Is well in hand, despite Sherlock's dramatics," Mycroft replied. He vowed in his mind that Sherlock would not be let off the hook for his latest bout of tomfoolery. "I need to inform the doctors that you're awake. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Get me out of here, I hate hospitals," Gregory said even as he began to doze off. 

"I'll see what I can do. Rest now, Gregory." 

Safe in the knowledge the younger man wouldn't remember, Mycroft leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Standing up, he straightened his clothing then left the room to make the arrangements. 

 

Several hours later Greg found himself being helped by Mycroft into the man's flat then settled in the lounge. Staying with Mycroft was not the outcome he'd anticipated when he'd asked the politician to spring him from the hospital. He hadn't even thought they'd release him without an observation period. When they had announced he could leave he'd assumed he'd be dropped off at home with host of supplies and left to his own devices. He really should have known better.

"I hope you'll find your stay here a comfortable one, Gregory."

"I'm sure I will. But, Mycroft, you really didn't have to go to all this trouble. I know you still have work to do."

"There is nothing on my agenda today that cannot be rescheduled or handled from home," Mycroft responded. "Especially as the doctors gave strict instructions that you were not to be left unsupervised. And, I assure you it is no trouble to have you here. As always, Gregory, you are welcome in my home." 

Greg couldn't have held in the goofy smile that erupted at those words if he'd tried, though he suspected the concussion might have contributed. Even so, from what little he remembered of their earlier conversation, he couldn't help shake the feeling that something more was going on. The radio silence on Sherlock's end damn near confirmed that suspicion. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Now, is there anything else you need before I return to that work you're so worried about?"

"Not I can think of," Greg answered, still grinning. 

"Very good. Both Anthea and I will be in and out to check on you. If you think of anything, please do not hesitate to ask."

Greg watched Mycroft leave. Stretching out on the couch, he snuggled into the blanket he'd been provided and set his mind to working out what was actually going on. It wasn't five minutes later that he fell asleep again.

 

Closing his laptop with a sigh, Mycroft stood from his desk and stretched. Work was finally complete for the day. He just had one more phonecall to make before he could once again join Gregory in the lounge. Though the Detective Inspector had slept, or at least dozed, for most of the day Mycroft had managed to eat lunch and tea with his guest. 

Wanting to stretch his legs a bit he began pacing his office, placing his call as he did so. He was annoyed, but unsurprised, when it went to voicemail. Stopping to look out the window he failed to notice Gregory appearing in the doorway. 

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes! When you finally deign to reappear, I am going to wring your neck for what you did to Gregory! Please note that your continued absence is doing nothing to improve my temper." 

Hanging up the phone he was startled when Gregory spoke: "Go easy on the kid, Mycroft. It's not his fault I was attacked." 

Whirling around to face him Mycroft nearly dropped his phone. "What are you doing up and about? You're meant to be resting," Mycroft responded, moving to Gregory's side.

"I've rested plenty today, Mycroft. And I definitely needed the loo after all the tea and water you and Anthea have forced on me today," said Gregory, humour infusing his voice. Mycroft was pleased to note that despite his words the Detective Inspector made no protests as he was gently chivied to the loveseat. In fact seemed quite pleased with the plan after he'd pulled Mycroft into the seat next to him. "Now why are you blaming Sherlock for what happened to me? You never have before."

"It's different this time," Mycroft replied. And it was; very different indeed. Not only had he accepted how much he cared for Gregory, but this time Sherlock was one hundred percent at fault. He didn't want to explain any of that to Gregory yet, though, so he kept it at that allowing the man to draw his own conclusions. Something he seemed happy to do as he politely changed the subject to what they should eat for dinner.


	9. December 9th

Mycroft knocked on the door to the guest room in which Gregory was staying. When he didn't receive a response he cracked the door open and softly called out. Once again there was no response. Assuming the Inspector had dozed off again, he let himself in to discover Gregory was not in bed.

He was about to remove himself when Gregory walked out of the en suite wearing nothing but a towel slung low over his hips. For the first time in his life Mycroft's brain entirely shut down. The only thing he could register was the expanse of golden skin, still wet from the shower, that was now exposed. Unconscious of the action Mycroft looked the man up and taking in every detail. Then he did it again for good measure. He knew that Gregory was still fit for his age, but that had not prepared him for the gorgeous sight now before him. 

It took several moments for him to register that Gregory was calling his name. As soon as it did, the embarrassment kicked in and he spun around in a belated attempt at giving the older man some privacy. He hoped his blush wasn't terribly obvious, but the heat he felt in his cheeks made it unlikely. 

"My apologies, Gregory. I just wanted to inquire about your dinner preferences."

"There's a buffet at the party, Mycroft. There's no need for us to eat beforehand. I'm surprised you're not already getting ready yourself, not that you don't already look fantastic."

All the while he was speaking, Mycroft could hear the Inspector moving around behind him. He heard Gregory rummaging through the bags Anthea had fetched from his flat. Heard the sound of the towel dropping to the floor. Could imagine all too easily Gregory bending over to put on his pants. Thus distracted, Mycroft didn't immediately pick up on the meaning of Gregory's speech.

"I was thinking I might cook, wait, party?"

"Yes, it's the NSY "ball" tonight. Surely you didn't forget?"

"No, I hadn't," Mycroft said, inching his way closer to the door. Behind him he could hear Gregory continuing to dress and he needed to leave before he embarrassed himself. "I had, however, given your poor health, assumed we would be spending a quiet evening in instead." 

"My health isn't that poor, Mycroft. And you can turn around now."

He did so, but remained close to the door. As much as Mycroft had appreciated Gregory out of his clothes, in his new suit he looked positively resplendent. He honestly couldn't decide which view he enjoyed more. Even so, the Inspector looked far too worn for his liking.

"I meant in no way to imply that you're incapable, but I sincerely doubt that you are operating at 100%."

"A fact which I fully intend to exploit in order to leave as early as possible. But I still have to go."

"Certainly your recent hoapitalisation is reason enough to skip it all together," he responded hopefully. 

"You know that's not how it works. And if you insist on talking me out of going tonight, then I'll insist on you explaining exactly why you blame Sherlock for my 'poor health'."

Mycroft most certainly did not want to tell Gregory about Sherlock. At least not until he was positive he knew what his brother was about. That Sherlock was Gregory's assailant was obvious. The why was less so. In this situation, given the choices, he decided discretion was the better part of valor.

"I'll go change and order a car. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

 

Gregory watched as Mycroft strode out of the room with all the dignity of someone who hadn't just been soundly blackmailed. He was not as adept at hiding the hitch in his step that gave proof to how much enjoyment he'd gotten from his ogling. Swiping up his towel Greg chuckled to himself about how easy teasing the government official had been. Even when said government official's back had been turned. After hanging up his towel in the en suite, he headed downstairs to wait.

Three hours later found the two of them headed back to Mycroft's place. Though he was not as ill as Mycroft's coddling would make it seem, the party, even though they'd only stayed for two hours, had been exhausting. Worst of all his less than stellar health meant that he hadn't been able to dance with Mycroft. Assuming of course Mycroft would even agree. But he'd had hopes.

Now, sitting in the back of one Mycroft's posh town cars, he could barely keep his eyes open. Turning to face the man, who looked entirely too worried given the situation, he offered him a sleepy smile and his hand. As with the last party, Mycroft was clearly fretting. 

Taking Greg's hand, he spoke; "About Sherlock..."

Greg cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I'm not a big fan of your keeping things from me, but I'm used to it and I trust you to have my best interests at heart. Even when I don't agree with your choice."

The most obvious example went unstated, but Sherlock's death had been a sore point between them for months after his resurrection. Mycroft swallowed and looked down at their joined hands. "Thank you, Gregory."

"That being said, I do have a few questions and I want you to answer honestly."

"Yes, of course," agreed Mycroft. "Unless doing so would jeopardise national security."

"Naturally, but if that's the case, I really don't want to know unless I have to." That illicited a small chuckle from the man. "Now, was my attack a matter of national security? Since you brought it up."

"No," Mycroft replied, laughing a bit more.

"Good. Am I in danger? Or at least more danger than normal?"

"No. The attack was most likely an isolated event, but I'll let you know if I have reason to suspect that's changed."

"Ok, that's good to know. Next question: how pissed off at Sherlock am I going to be when I find out what happened?"

"If you let him escape without a black eye, I'll be sending off your nomination for a Nobel peace prize."

Greg laughed at that, delighted to be answered by one of Mycroft's genuine smiles. "I haven't chinned him yet," Greg countered. 

"There's a first time for everything, Gregory."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading. All the kudos and comments have made it easier to stick with it. It is unlikely that I'll have the chance to post again before Friday, but I'll do some outlining in the meantime. Cheers!
> 
> Also Happy Hanukkah!


	10. December 10th

Greg had slept long and hard the night before. He'd been hoping for 'practice', but had dozed off before they'd even reached Mycroft's flat. As such he'd been shepherded to bed the moment they'd returned with only an admonishment to sleep. It was probably for the best, yet he was still disappointed. 

He had not been disappointed when he'd walked into the kitchen to discover Mycroft cooking them both a Full English. They'd eaten at a leisurely pace, sharing news sheets, easy conversation, and multiple pots of tea. Once the kitchen was clean they'd drifted to the office where they had taken care of their respective business. The whole thing had been delightfully domestic and had Greg wondering how fast was too fast when you'd known the person in question a decade already.

As he submitted the last of his paperwork for the year, he noticed it was getting close to dinner time. Mycroft had completed his work far sooner than Greg and had been missing in action since shortly after lunch. Standing up and stretching, he decided to go in search of his host. Hopefully the man had a plan for dinner as Greg was starving now that he'd noticed the time.

His hunger increased exponentially, his mouth watering, as he got closer to the kitchen. Walking in he found Mycroft pulling vegetables out of the oven to go along with the roast already sitting on the counter. Greg almost asked the man to marry him on the spot, but managed to restrain himself. That would be moving too fast.

"I was just about to come get you," Mycroft said. "Now that you're here, you can set the table while I carve."

"Absolutely," Greg said with a grin. 

 

Mycroft watched Gregory finish off his second plate with fondness. After he'd completed his work he'd not only taken the time to cook a full roast, but had also organised a surprise for the Detective Inspector. Once the man had finished eating Mycroft pushed back from the table and stood up. 

"If you're agreeable, I thought we could wait until after for pudding," Mycroft said, extending his hand.

"After what?"

"You'll see," he replied, helping Gregory from his chair. 

"Should I close my eyes?"

"If you wish."

Mycroft chuckled as Gregory screwed his eyes tightly shut. Leading him to the lounge, he thanked the heavens once again for Anthea. While he was cooking she had, with help, arranged for a tree and all the necessary accoutrements needed to trim it properly. Though Mycroft favored a simpler colour palette than his dear Gregory. 

"Open your eyes."

"What's all this, then?"

"Deduce it."

"I thought you didn't do this sort of thing."

"What can I say? Someone recently provided a delightful argument as to why I should change my mind. I thought they might enjoy another opportunity to drive the point home, especially as the last time wasn't as festive as it might have been."

"Mycroft...." 

He was delighted when Gregory pulled him into a hug, even if it was brief, and smiled warmly as the man did a little dance. The fairy lights had already been strung, thankfully, so all that was left were the ornaments. Together they began sorting through the decorations when Gregory's face lit up at something he had found.

Holding out a large bunch of mistletoe, Gregory grinned wickedly. "You know, we didn't get in any practice last night, despite there being ample amounts of this."

"You were dead on your feet and I was not about to take advantage," Mycroft replied, primly, already gravitating closer to his friend. 

"I feel perfectly well tonight."

"Indeed."

Though it took them far longer than Mycroft anticipated due to all the 'practice' they engaged in, they did eventually get the tree trimmed. Later as he was falling asleep he thought he could come to love decorating for the holidays if it involved a smiling Gregory. Especially if it included kissing a smiling Gregory.


	11. December 11th

Not for the first time, Mycroft cursed his job. He quickly penned a note to Gregory explaining his absence, wishing he could say goodbye properly. Knowing he didn't actually have the time didn't make it any less frustrating that he couldn't. Placing the note in front of the coffee maker he left, knowing Anthea was already waiting for him in the car. With any luck he'd be back in London by dinnertime. 

 

Gregory whistled to himself as he made his way to the kitchen. He was disappointed when instead of Mycroft, he found a note. He was even more disappointed after he read it. 

'My dearest Gregory, I am afraid that I have been called out of the country. I have hopes that I will not be gone long, but unfortunately I am unable to guarantee when I will return. I will contact you if I can, but that may not be possible. Do not worry if that becomes the case. Please take the leftovers; it will give me pleasure to know that you are enjoying them and thinking of our lovely evening. With warmest regards, Mycroft'

Sighing, Greg started the coffee maker, thoughtfully set up by Mycroft, and began mentally rewriting his plans for the day. Since spending the day with Mycroft was no longer an option there were some errands he should run. Maybe make a few preparations. Given how well things were going with Mycroft, there was no reason not to press ahead.

By the end of the day he was exhausted, grimy, and incredibly frustrated. His first errand had been to drop off his things and the remainder of the roast at his flat before heading to the Yard. Once there he printed off all the forms he'd filled out the day before, filed them, then escaped as quickly as possible. With any luck he wouldn't need to return until January. 

His next task had been getting a jump on his Christmas shopping. He quickly decided that midmorning on a Monday was the perfect time to shop. Even taking the time to sit down for lunch he'd managed to cross everyone off his list except for Mycroft. Then again, he always knew that one would be the toughest. 

Returning home with his shopping, he'd briefly considered going over to Baker Street in order to get some answers from Sherlock, but ultimately decided against it. Instead he set to cleaning his flat; really cleaning it. He sorted through his wardrobe filling two big bin bags for charity by the time he was done. Greg ran them to the local church then went by Tesco to pick up some groceries and cleaning supplies. Once back, he scrubbed, dusted, vacuumed, laundered, polished, and organised until it was as clean as the day he moved in, albeit furnished. 

All in all it was a productive day. Sitting on his couch enjoying a beer and Mycroft's cooking he mentally patted himself on the back for all he'd accomplished. Checking his phone for the millionth time that day, he sighed when there was still no word from his friend. He wrote out numerous texts, but didn't send any of them unsure if he should. Around ten he gave up waiting to hear from him and hit the shower then went to bed.


	12. December 12th

The next morning there was still no word from Mycroft. For all that it was not wholly unexpected, it was still frustrating. With no moves to be made on the romance front he turned his attention to the Sherlock issue. His assault was clearly no accident, but he needed more information before he could confirm his theory. Like many things that directly involved Sherlock he desperately hoped his theory was wrong. 

He thought about asking John for help then thought better of it. John might be his mate, but he would choose Sherlock, rightfully so, over Greg every time. That's assuming of course that John even knew anything. If he didn't think John would approve, Sherlock had no qualms hiding things from the good doctor. 

Making his way through eggs and roast he began to formulate a plan. He would need to tread carefully if he wanted to get anything out of a conversation with the consulting harbinger of chaos. Regrettably he had to accept the fact that he may get nothing, but Greg was going to try. With a little kindness from the universe he wouldn't walk away empty handed.

An hour later he was climbing the stairs to 221B. He stepped heavily, having learned the hard way not to sneak up on the pair of lovebirds. The door was open when he reached the landing, even so he still knocked before entering. He was blessed with nothing more disturbing than Sherlock laying on the couch wrapped in a sheet.

"John, Gavin is here," Sherlock shouted.

"Then it's a good thing I'm already dressed," he replied, stepping out from the kitchen. "Hey, Greg. Cuppa? I just put the kettle on."

"Please," Greg said, taking Sherlock's seat for himself. He pointedly ignored Sherlock when the younger man sat up and studied him. It was difficult not to fidget under the scrutiny, especially given that he'd worn one of the outfits that Mycroft had bought him. The tension was broken when John walked in carrying the tea tray. "Thanks for that, John."

"Ta," the doctor responded, raising his mug in a mock toast. "So what brings you by this morning?"

"Since I've some free time I thought I'd stop by see where Sherlock was with that case from Friday."

"What case?"

"Nothing to be concerned about, John."

"Nothing to be concerned about? I was knocked unconscious and poisoned!"

"Like I said, nothing to be concerned about," Sherlock said, dismissively. 

"Sherlock!" exclaimed John.

"What?"

"Don't bother, John," Greg said when it looked like the doctor was about to start a lengthy lecture. "If the shag you guys had this morning didn't put him in a good enough mood to be courteous, I doubt anything you could say now will do the trick."

He grinned broadly at Sherlock's blush and scowl. After years of having details about his own personal life bandied about, Greg felt positively gleeful that he could finally give Sherlock a dose of his own medicine. He felt slightly bad about calling out John, but the doctor had contributed to more than his fair share of the mayhem in Greg's life so it was easy to shrug off. Besides, if they didn't want people to comment on their sex life Sherlock shouldn't lounge about in a sheet.

"So, poisoned, you said, Greg? Why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?"

"I assumed Sherlock would tell you since it happened while I was helping him with a case."

"Sherlock?"

"I see you're wearing new clothes. Again. Trying to impress your new conquest?"

"Or just enjoying wearing nice things since I don't have to worry about being called onto a messy crime scene."

"You're not lying, but you're not telling the whole truth either," said the detective. 

"Oh Christ, Sherlock, please tell me Greg's romantic life is not the case you were working on when Greg got hurt, because that's the only 'case' I've heard of you taking lately."

Sherlock said nothing which was the closest thing to confirmation they were going to get from the bastard. Greg downed his tea as quickly as possible. John had the same look on his face as he did that time he chinned the chief superintendent. As it was unlikely he would learn the motive today he decided to head out.

"Well it was nice seeing you both. Thanks for the tea, John. We'll grab a drink soon, yeah."

And with that Greg was out the door. Even as he hustled down the stairs he could hear John laying into his boyfriend. They may have shagged this morning but Greg had a feeling Sherlock wouldn't be getting any tonight. As he was now certain the lanky brat had been responsible for his injuries, it seemed like a good start at payback. 

 

Mycroft could not be more displeased with how things were going. What should have been a relatively straight forward matter had, due to the latest 'presidential' tweets, become an unmitigated disaster. He'd had to turn off his personal cell phone for security's sake and the longer this meeting went on the less hope he had that he would be returning to London tonight. As another argument broke out he reworked his mental calculations; he wouldn't even be able to return tomorrow. 

As the argument grew, he gave himself a moment to think about Gregory. The man was a delight. Intelligent, charming, and blessed with boyish good looks that belied his maturity. What the Detective Inspector saw in Mycroft, and he was now certain there was genuine interest, he would never know, but he did not like the idea that his progress on that front was being stalled. Especially not in the name of playing babysitter to a group of children masquerading as politicians. 

As another argument sprung up from the first one Mycroft realised Thursday was the soonest he could hope to go home. Catching Anthea's eye he signaled to her his intentions. Noting her small nod of acknowledgement he stepped into the fray. A lunch break would do everyone a world of good. 

 

Greg marked his place and set his book on the nightstand. Knowing there would be nothing, he still checked his phone before turning off his lamp. Mycroft had said not worry, but as he searched out a comfortable position to sleep he couldn't help himself. His friend could be anywhere and their last communication had been a bloody goodbye note. If things went to plan, they were going to have to work out a better system in the future.


	13. December 13th

Mycroft had a migraine and it was not even time yet for the mid-morning break. The situation was beyond intolerable. For all that the original problem had been resolved early that morning, several other issues had been brought to bear during the discussions that now also had to be resolved before he could leave. Perhaps he might be home by Friday. 

 

By the time Greg trudged into The Three Feathers he had visited at least a dozen shops looking for a gift for Mycroft. He had been unsuccessful. Everything he'd come across had been either too impersonal or overly familiar. Mycroft's gift didn't have to be perfect, but it did need to be better than 'good enough'. Adding to his frustration was the fact that he still hadn't heard from the man.

John had already secured a table and drinks by the time he walked in. Shedding his coat and gloves, he joined his friend and toasted him before taking a long draught. 

"Rough day?"

"Frustrating would be a better description."

"Oh, did you also spend the day trying to get Sherlock to explain how his investigating your love life resulted in your being concussed and poisoned?"

Greg had wondered if John had made the connection that Sherlock was in fact his assailant, but it looked like he hadn't gotten there yet. Greg was a bit peeved, but given that it resulted in playing house with Mycroft for the weekend, he couldn't bring himself to be too mad. Granted that might change when he found out why the lanky bastard did it. As of now he hadn't worked that bit out. 

"No. I know better than to assume he'll admit to anything before he's ready. If ever."

"Fair enough. So what's got your pants in a twist then?"

"Having difficulty finding the right present for the person I'm seeing."

"I didn't realise you'd been seeing each other long enough to exchange gifts."

"We knew each other before we started dating."

"I see," responded John, giving him a look that said he saw enough. "Well transitioning from 'we're just friends' gifts to, well, whatever you guys are gifts."

"How did you handle that with Sherlock?"

"I doubt you really want to know," he mumbled into his pint while turning bright red. Greg laughed long and hard at that before changing the subject. By the time he returned home he'd had enough pints to insure he fell asleep immediately.


	14. December 14th

Mycroft was uneasy. Late last night the meeting had gone down a tangent that was completely unrelated to the proceedings. Annoying as they had been, the many other tracks the meeting had followed down had at least been connected to the original matter. This new tack, however, felt like a stalling tactic. There were only so many reasons to further delay the resolution of this gathering; none of them were good. He would have to remain on his toes.

 

Greg got ready for his party as slowly as possible in the hope that Mycroft would either call or show up in time to join him for the party. Even as he hailed a cab He was checking the street for black town cars. He knew it was unlikely at this point, but he really missed Mycroft. He was also becoming extremely worried. 

Today made the fourth full day the government official had been gone. He didn't know exactly what it was that Mycroft did, but he was fairly certain that four days away when he thought he would only be gone one was not a good sign. For all Greg knew the man could be hip deep in terrorists or being held hostage or something. It was unlikely, but the longer Mycroft was gone the more fantastic Greg's worries became. 

Doing his best to push down his concerns about Mycroft's safety he plastered a smile on his face and entered the fray. There was enough mistletoe to insure that Mycroft never strayed far from his thoughts. Which in turn lead to further anxiety about his friend's welfare. Despite his better efforts he couldn't shake the feeling that something was incredibly wrong. He was at the party for less than half an hour before he quietly departed. 

 

Mycroft's ears were still ringing hours after the bomb had gone off. Thankfully the impromptu nature of the attack insured that it was not as successful as it might have been had they had time to plan it out properly. It was a small enough explosion that it would, by and large, fly under the radar of the international media, even so, the damage had not been insignificant. 

There had been no casualties, but injuries aplenty, including Mycroft himself. Thankfully they were not serious, mostly bruises, and a sprained wrist, but he would be feeling the effects for several days at least. Unfortunate as the experience was, it did now in fact insure that he would be able to return home tomorrow. There was nothing like a threat to personal safety to speed up negotiations.


	15. December 15th

Just after lunch Mycroft had finally contacted him. The message left much to be desired; 'Back in London, I will contact you tomorrow.' Intellectually Greg knew that he and Mycroft weren't really dating, but that didn't stop him from being irritated at the cavalier communication. Therefore he was more than a little surprised when Anthea showed up at his door carrying a garment bag. 

"What happened to 'I'll contact you tomorrow'?" Greg asked snippily, even as he let her in.

"I'm intervening," she replied, hanging what he assumed was a new suit from the kitchen door. "A car will be here in half an hour to take you to the party. I trust you will be ready by then."

"And what makes you think that I'm going to the party tonight?" Now that he knew Mycroft was safe, Greg was finding it difficult not to be angry. Four and a half days of silence, during which time Mycroft could have been dealing with who knows what, then one lousy text. No response to any of the texts Greg had sent after. And now Anthea was in his flat throwing out instructions expecting him to just go along with it. "I was under the impression that my presence was not needed."

"I can assure you that your presence is very much needed, even if both of you are too stubborn to admit it right now."

"Both of us?" He asked, growing suspicious. "Does Mycroft even know you're here?"

"You're wasting time," she said dismissively, heading towards the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have my own date to get ready for. I trust I'll see you there, Inspector. Don't disappoint me."

With that she was gone leaving Greg with more questions than answers and even more annoyed than he had been previously. That being said, if Mycroft truly was unaware of Anthea's machinations then there had to be a damn good reason she went against his wishes. He might be frustrated and more than a bit pissed off, but he wasn't an idiot. If Anthea was defying Mycroft the smart money was on following her lead. Sighing he grabbed the garment bag and began to get ready; he only had twenty minutes left and still needed to shave.

By the time Greg got to the party he was incredibly nervous. Just because Anthea thought he should be there didn't mean Mycroft would be happy to see him. Whatever they were, the man must have had his reasons for essentially disinviting him. It was also the poshest event to date and Greg felt a little bit out of his depth even with his new suit. He nabbed a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, scanning the room. Intent as he was he failed to notice when Molly sidled up beside him. 

"I see yours is late too," she commented, causing Greg to nearly jump in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's all right," he replied, despite her sounding more amused than apologetic. "Does this happen often?"

"More often than I would like, but not often enough to make an issue of it, particularly given how often I'm called out at odd hours to deal with Sherlock."

"Fair enough."

He was thinking of what to say next when Molly let out a laden "ohhhh". He followed her line of site to see that Anthea had just entered and "ohhhh" was right indeed. Molly didn't even say goodbye as she made a beeline for her date. When he didn't see Mycroft he looked back to Anthea who was kind enough to hold up five fingers before she and Molly disappeared into the crowd.

He took that to mean five minutes. He searched out another waiter getting a glass of champagne for Mycroft and a fresh one for himself before setting up near the entrance. He hadn't been there long when Mycroft walked in. It was easy to see, for him at least, what Anthea had meant when she said she was intervening. Girding himself Greg abandoned the drinks on a nearby table then moved to intercept him.

 

Mycroft did not want to be at this party. He was exhausted and his entire body hurt, not to mention the headache he was developing. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a migraine, but he doubted he was that lucky. The only good thing he could say about the party was that, although he was not exempt from being seen there, there was no one he was required to speak to and could keep his interactions with others to a minimum. 

He was about to move to outskirts when he felt a hand at his elbow. His rebuke died in his throat when he saw Gregory, who was steering them to a dimly lit corner. Mycroft felt terrible about ignoring him that afternoon, but hadn't wanted the handsome D.I. to see him until he was more recovered. In fact he'd hoped that Gregory would assume that Mycroft was not attending tonight and would therefore skip it. Apparently he had miscalculated. 

"Gregory? What are you doing here?" He asked once they'd stopped moving.

"The more important question, is what are you doing here?" Gregory hissed. 

Mycroft was still forming a response when he realised Gregory had asked him another question. 

"My apologies, could you repeat the last question?"

"I think that answered it well enough," he responded, folding his arms over his chest, studying him. Mycroft felt his heart sinking as he braced for the telling off that was surely coming. Clearly he had managed to ruin another relationship, and this one wasn't even official yet. Needless to say he was surprised by what the Detective Inspector said: "Who do we need to make our excuses to? It's time to get you home."

"I beg your pardon."

"You're clearly unwell--"

"I assure you, Gregory, I am perfectly well."

"Which explains why you failed to notice my approach, zoned out while I was speaking, and are slightly slurring your words."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are. And judging by the look on your face you didn't mean to ask that out loud. So I'll ask again, to whom to we need to make our excuses?"

"That would be me," Mycroft heard from his left. He bowed over Lady Smallwood's hand when she offered it. She then shook Gregory's as well before continuing; "Is something amiss, Inspector?"

"Sherlock has a created a right mess, and I'm afraid I need Mycroft here to come help me sort it," Gregory replied easily. Mycroft could tell that she saw through the lie, plausible though it was. Lady Smallwood studied the two of them briefly.

"Well, in that case, I think I'd better let you get to it," she said.

Mycroft watched in disbelief as she walked away. He then felt himself being steered again, this time by a hand in the small of his back. In short order he was being carefully bundled into the back of his car, which he clearly remembered sending away. Gregory climbed in beside him after saying something to his driver.

"How bad is your head?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've known you long enough to know when you have a headache, Mycroft. Now, are you going to tell me what else is wrong or are you going to keep pretending that everything is fine?"

Mycroft wanted to be annoyed by Gregory's bossiness, but he didn't have the energy to keep arguing with him. He also knew deep down that the man was right. Even so he wasn't ready to admit just how awful he felt. Gregory sighed when he realised he wouldn't be getting an answer. 

The car stopped much sooner than Mycroft anticipated. He didn't have time to contemplate the aberration for long before he was being gently chivvyed out of the car. They were outside of Gregory's building and his driver was handing Gregory Mycroft's overnight bag. Before he could protest, Gregory had put his arm around Mycroft's shoulder and began herding him inside even as his car pulled away. 

"What are you doing?"

"The same thing you did for me when I was hurt," Gregory replied, leading him up the stairs. "And the fact that you are having to ask that will be considered evidence exhibit F."

Mycroft huffed at that pronouncement, but continued to allow Gregory to continue helping him. For all that he tried to hide it, Mycroft was in fact out of breath by the time they made it to Gregory's flat. Thankfully, Gregory made no further comment, merely helping him to the couch and putting on the kettle. 

After handing him a ridiculously large mug or tea, delightfully prepared exactly how he preferred it, Gregory disappeared into the back of the flat. Mycroft felt himself slowly deflating as he drank his tea. He tried to deduce the Inspector's actions from the sounds, but couldn't concentrate well enough to do so. By the time Gregory rejoined him he was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.

"Glad I didn't run you a bath then," he said, pulling the mug from his fingers and setting it aside. "Let's get you to bed, we can talk in the morning."

Mycroft simply nodded. Surprised when Gregory actually picked him up and carried him. He tried to protest, but was shushed for his troubles even as he was gently sat on the side of the bed. Then shushed again when he protested Gregory's undressing him and helping him into his sleep clothes before finally tucking him in. Mycroft was asleep before he could properly register the feeling of Gregory's lips kissing his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, having the story done by Twelfth Night clearly didn't happen, but rest assured I will be completing this story.


	16. December 16th

Mycroft woke up unable to move. It took him a few minutes to reorient himself to his surrounds and establish what was holding him in place, Gregory's arm. He was desperate for the loo and equally desperate to remain snug in the arms of his friend. He was saved from choosing when his bed mate stirred.

Keeping his eyes closed he felt as Gregory slowly removed his arms from around him, then carefully climbed out of bed. He listened as the Inspector padded out of the bedroom. Now that he was awake the pain was making itself known again. His head was better, but the rest of him now ached; a low lying thrum that was almost worse than the migraine he'd finally shaken off. 

He heard Gregory come back in the room and startled when he felt the man's hand on his forehead. "I know you're awake, Mycroft. Here, let me help you sit up." 

Before he could respond Gregory's arms were around him once more gently maneuvering him him until he was sitting on the side of the bed. Mycroft waved off the other man's protests as he stood up and stumbled his way to the loo. He consciously avoided the mirror as he did his business and washed his hands; bracing himself against the sink he mustered himself to make the trek back to the bedroom. He needn't have bothered as Gregory swept him into his arms as soon as he cleared the bathroom door. 

"This is hardly necessary, Gregory," he protested, weakly, despite keeping his hands on Gregory's shoulders longer than necessary as he was lowered to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"I saw the bruises, Mycroft," he responded. "And judging from the fullness of the bottle, you haven't been taking these pills like you're supposed to. I would say taking care of you right now is very necessary. Now if you just want someone else, say so."

"I've no objection to the company," Mycroft said, taking Gregory's hand in his own and squeezing it. The last thing Mycroft wanted was for his friend to the think it was him that he objected to. " If, as you say, I must endure this coddling--"

"You must."

"Then I'm glad it's you."

"Good, now take this pill like the good lad you are."

Mycroft snorted and instantly regretted it. Gregory took his hand away then, fished a pill out of the bottle, and handed it to him along with a glass of water. Knowing he was being watched he dutifully swallowed it, plus half the water, before setting the glass on the bedside table. He was startled when Gregory climbed back into bed and softly pulled him down to lie beside him.

"Gregory, what are you doing?"

"It's four a.m. on a Saturday morning, we're going back to bed."

"I'm not sleepy now," he grumbled even as he settled into Gregory's embrace.

"Just wait until the pill kicks in," he replied. Running his fingers through Mycroft's hair Gregory began to hum. Mycroft fell asleep before he could pick out the tune.

 

When next Greg woke up it was just gone eight. He tried to go back to sleep, but after half an hour gave it up as a bad job. Disentangling himself from Mycroft he got up to make himself some coffee and search out some breakfast. By the time Mycroft stumbled into the kitchen he was just putting the finishing touches on his breakfast tray. He quickly set it down in order to help his friend instead. 

"Easy there, love." He put his arm around Mycroft and led him out of the kitchen to the living room. "Just get comfy here and I'll bring you your breakfast and your pills. Unless you need the loo?"

Mycroft shook his head so Greg left him and got back to his task. When he returned, with breakfast tray in hand, he was glad to see that his friend had arranged himself length ways on the couch sitting with his back to the arm. He settled the tray over Mycroft's lap then sat down on the coffee table. He grinned as Mycroft tutted and swiped a piece of toast off the tray.

"And where is your breakfast, Gregory?"

"Already ate," he replied after swallowing his toast. "You, however, probably haven't had a proper meal in days, so I expect you to clean your plate. And when you're done you can have another one of your pills."

"Gregory...."

"Anthea already texted me that she's cleared your schedule for the next two days and that you're not expected back in the office until Monday at the earliest. She is also going to drop off more clothes later. So any objections on your part will be over ruled."

Greg crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave Mycroft his sternest look. His guest squirmed under his regard, but picked up his fork and began eating. As far as Greg was concerned that just cemented his theory that Mycroft was even less well than he first assumed. He could not imagine Mycroft giving in so easily if he was operating on all cylinders. 

So as not to make Mycroft self conscious, Greg left him to fetch the pills. He also grabbed himself a fresh cup of coffee and got a jump on the dishes. He took his time so that when he returned to the living room Mycroft had eaten nearly everything. 

"I truly don't think I can eat anything more, Gregory," Mycroft said, looking a bit distressed by his admission. 

"That's alright." Greg took the tray from his lap and placed it on the coffee table. Taking the glass of water he handed it to Mycroft along with another pill. "Here you go."

"Perhaps you might be kind enough to halve it."

"Considering the bottle says you're supposed to take two, I think one is halved enough."

Mycroft grumbled something in French under his breath, but ultimately took the pill. Greg retrieved the glass, placed it on the tray, then lifted Mycroft's feet so that he could sit under them. Shushing his protests, Greg started rubbing his feet, contemplating the best way to start the conversation he was determined to have. Mycroft beat him to the punch.

"I believe last night you said we needed to talk?"

Greg looked over at Mycroft who had become very interested in his hands. If his tone hadn't tipped Greg off, the fact that he was studiously avoiding eye contact would have; Mycroft was clearly assuming the worst case scenario. Greg stopped rubbing Mycroft's feet and reached over to take his hand.

"Hey," he said softly, waiting for Mycroft to look at him before continuing; "I'm not breaking up with you."

He remembered as he was saying it that the two of them were not actually dating. Remembered that all of their interactions of the past two weeks were built on the premise of shamming his ex-wife. That while a real relationship with Mycroft was his end game that did not change the fact that it was not reality. He powered on regardless of the faux pas, buoyed by the fact that Mycroft didn't correct him. 

"That being said, we have to come up with a plan for future trips. I know you can't tell me much about your work, but when you just disappear for days at a time with absolutely no word, I worry. And let me tell you how much that worry was not helped by being blown off when you returned only to find out that you've been injured. Something I suspect you would have hidden from me if Anthea hadn't intervened."

Mycroft had the decency to look abashed at his words but didn't turn away from the scolding. Instead he looked thoughtful and, oddly enough, just a touch relieved. Greg was amused when his friend began playing with his fingers, a nervous habit that was usually played out on an umbrella or a pocket watch. He highly doubted the other man was even aware of it.

"I apologise, my dear. I'm not accustomed to having anyone at home to whom I am accountable. Certainly not anyone who cares about what happens to me, at least not beyond how it affects their plans. I will try to remember that in the future. I'm confident that between the two of us we can come up with a workable solution. Though, perhaps that could wait until I'm better recovered."

"I think that is a sound suggestion," Greg said. Deciding to push his luck he added; "Perhaps we should kiss in order to seal our new agreement."

"An equally sound suggestion."

"I'm glad you agree," he responded, leaning over to gently kiss Mycroft. Then he kissed him again for good measure. He pulled back, but Mycroft pulled him back for another.

"This can't be conducive to your recovery," Greg said when Mycroft released him.

"On this I'm afraid I can't agree with you. I absolutely believe that kissing you will do far more for my recovery than anything else."

Before he could answer Mycroft was on his knees directly beside him. Greg didn't know the man could move so quickly, but had no objections when Mycroft then straddled him and kissed him again. Unlike their previous pecks this one was long and deep. Mycroft had one hand in Greg's hair and worked the other behind his back deliciously close to his bum. Greg responded by running his hands over every bit of Mycroft he could reach, doing his best to be mindful of his friend's injuries. 

They only stopped kissing when it became necessary to breath again. Then Mycroft was kissing him again moving from his mouth to his neck. Greg heard himself moan when he felt Mycroft bite down gently at the juncture of his shoulder before kissing his way back up his neck. By the time he made it back to Greg's mouth his kisses were becoming slower and softer; lingering where before it had been all fierce. 

After one final achingly sweet kiss Mycroft finally eased back enough for Greg to look at him. His pupils were blown wide and his breathing was shallow. As much as Greg wanted to believe it was all down to his skill as a kisser, he wasn't that arrogant. His suspicions were confirmed when Mycroft lay his head on his shoulder. 

"The meds have kicked in, haven't they?"

"Mmmmmmm."

"Come on then, let's get you back to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay.
> 
> Thanks to Mae for helping keep me somewhat on track.
> 
> Rating is likely to go up, but it probably not get terribly explicit as I'm rubbish at writing smut.


	17. December 17th

Greg woke up to the smell of coffee. He grinned before he remembered that the person making the coffee was supposed to be resting. Quickly he scrambled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. Mycroft was sitting at the island enjoying a cup of tea and some fruit.

"You're meant to be taking it easy," scolded Greg even as he poured himself a cup of coffee. 

"Given I did nothing but sleep, eat, and take care of the necessaries yesterday I am beyond rested, Gregory. And you truly cannot argue that making tea and coffee is a particularly burdensome task."

"You cut up some fruit too."

Greg knew he was being more than a touch overprotective, but he had not enjoyed seeing his Holmes exhausted and covered in bruises. Standing across from him now, the D.I. could see that though the man was better he was still in pain. Mycroft ignored his comment in favor of feeding Greg a piece of melon.

"So what are the plans for today? Bearing in mind that I will feel better in myself if I'm up and about actually doing things."

"No, no, no. Don't think you can recruit me into helping you subvert your doctor's orders. Anthea was very clear about what those were when she stopped by with supplies yesterday. You are not to exert yourself or engage in any strenuous activities. So are plans for today are very much like yesterday."

"I refuse to spend all day in bed drugged out of my mind again."

"Then we'll spend it on the couch," countered Greg. "And you will take your pills. Now that you've caught up on your sleep they'll do nothing more than they're meant to which is prevent you from being in pain."

Greg ignored the murderous glare sent his way in favor of getting some toast started. He was glad Mycroft was recovering, but was not looking forward to dealing with a Holmes intent on ignoring medical advice. 

 

Mycroft thought that another day of doing nothing would prove intolerable, but it had been fairly pleasant all things considered. Gregory had held firm on the medication front, as he'd predicted they were not nearly as debilitating, but had, thankfully, been much more amenable to Mycroft's doing things for himself. Being able to get up and stretch his legs a bit as well as make his own tea had done wonders for his mood. As had being able to take a shower.and put on proper clothes.

They spent most of the day reading, occasionally commenting on their respective books, and just being together. Never before had Mycroft been with anyone with whom he might sit quietly; anyone with whom   
he could just be. Knowing he could have that with Gregory made him even more determined to turn their 'relationship' into a reality. 

Now, however, their day was coming to a close. Gregory was due at the pub for holiday drinks with his team. It was the one event they'd both agreed from the beginning that Mycroft would not attend. As much as he wished to spend the evening with Gregory, he could not bring himself to offer his escort. He was about to bring up his going home when there was a knock on the door. 

"Right on time," Gregory said as he got up to answer it. He opened the door allowing Sgt Donovan to enter carrying a clutch of carrier bags.

"You weren't terribly specific about what to get, so I ordered a bit of everything. If nothing else, you'll have plenty of left overs." Putting the bags on the coffee table she finally noticed Mycroft. "Oh, hello. Sally Donovan."

Mycroft, who had risen when she entered, extended his hand; "Mycroft Holmes."

It was obvious that she recognised his surname, but thankfully made no comment as she turned to Gregory expectantly. 

"Let me grab my wallet," Gregory said, going to his bedroom. 

"So you're the reason Greg's not coming to the pub tonight. Just so there's no misunderstanding, if you hurt him I will do everything in my power to make your life uncomfortable."

Mycroft had had no idea that the DI had arranged to stay in that evening. That the man was skipping such a function simply to spend time with him was thrilling to say the least. The fact that Sgt Donovan thought they were actually dating made him curious. 

"Why do you assume our relationship is romantic in nature?"

Sally snorted before saying; "I have eyes."

Gregory returned before Mycroft could formulate a response. 

"Here you go." Handing over a handful of note, Gregory began steering Sgt Donovan out of the flat with a hand at the small of her back. "That should cover dinner and the first round, or at least your first round."

Mycroft found himself pulling out his wallet before he truly thought about it. 

"Here," he said, handing over his own wad of notes. "This should cover the first round of everyone else as well."

A chorus of "Mycroft...." and "Bribery, sir?" greeted his gesture. He decided Sgt Donovan should have the most immediate reply. 

"It's the very least I can do to say thank you for lending me your DI for the evening."

"Yeah, alright. Just remember what I said," she replied, taking the cash. "Thanks. I'm sure this will cheer the team right up. The two of you have a very good night."

"Have a good evening."

"Good night, Sally." Gregory closed the door behind her and turned to look at him. "You didn't have to do that."

"You didn't have to give up a night at the pub with your team. I know how much you've been looking forward to it."

They stood there staring at one another for several moments. Finally Gregory sighed pulling Mycroft into his arms. He leaned into it, putting his arms around Gregory's waist, before leaning back enough to kiss Gregory on the nose.

"Let's eat dinner. It would be poor thanks to Sgt Donovan if we let it go cold."

Mycroft steered Gregory back to the couch where they made short work of unpacking the feast with which they'd been provided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got Hellas blocked on this chapter, but here it finally is


	18. December 18th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is amazingly the 2nd chapter I've posted today, so make sure you read 17 first.

"Mine or yours," Greg said, burrowing further into the covers even as Mycroft moved to turn off the alarm. 

"Mine," he responded. "I have to go into the office today and I need to stop at home beforehand."

Greg hummed in reply smiling when Mycroft lay back down and pulled him into his arms. Other bits began to show interest as Mycroft began kissing along his hairline and neck. He was about to turn around when Mycroft withdrew, sitting up and flinging the covers back. Sighing Greg got out of bed as well.

"I'll put the kettle on."

Greg padded into the kitchen flicking on the kettle for Mycroft and starting the coffee maker for himself, before pulling out mugs, milk, and sweeteners. He had just put some bread in the toaster when Mycroft walked in fully dressed. 

"How long do you have?"

"The car will be here in half an hour. So time for tea and toast at least."

"Good. Back in a mo."

Greg took the time to visit the loo and brush his teeth, though he decided against dressing yet and rejoined Mycroft in the kitchen. The coffee had finished brewing and gladly accepted the mug Mycroft pressed into his hands. 

"Ta, thanks."

"You didn't have to get up you know," Mycroft chided him gently, kissing his temple.

"No, but I wanted to. Won't always get up with you though, so don't get used to it."

"Fair enough," Mycroft said, chuckling.

They made and consumed their toast in a comfortable silence. Greg basked in the domesticity of it all. His worries that Mycroft would be uninterested in pursuing a relationship after the party, but he was still at a loss how to bring up the transition. Luckily he still had the better part of a week to figure it out.

"What do you have on your agenda for the day, Gregory?"

"A fitting for my tux is the main thing, though I'm hoping to finish up my Christmas shopping as well. Maybe grab a pint with John if he's available. You?"

"A number of meetings and what I imagine will be a mountain of paperwork. Assuming nothing more pressing comes up of course."

"Of course. Will I see you tonight?"

"Highly unlikely, unfortunately. I most likely will not be available until our engagement Wednesday night."

Greg was disappointed, but between five days away followed by taking an entire weekend off he was not surprised. The flip side of course was that it would give him three full days to find his would be boyfriend a present. A problem he was no closer to solving than he had been.

"Understandable, but it will make the wait until Wednesday even longer."

"I'll text you when I'm able. And now I have to go, my dear." 

Greg walked Mycroft to the door and helped him into his coat. 

"I'll see you on Wednesday, Mycroft." 

Greg leaned in to kiss him. What he meant to be a short and sweet goodbye kiss quickly turned heated as Mycroft pushed him against the door and proceeded to snog the living daylights out of him. When they pulled apart they were both panting.

"Have a good day, Gregory."

Greg watched in a daze as Mycroft waltzed out of his flat and headed down the stairs. Shaking his head he closed and locked the door before heading to the shower. He would pay Mycroft back for that.

Later at his fitting Greg ruefully conceded to himself that allowing Mycroft his indulgence was well worth the prick to his pride. Not only did he look incredible, but it was the most comfortable he'd ever been in formal wear. Perhaps he should rethink his position on how much he was willing to let Mycroft spoil him in the future. There were a few adjustments that still needed to be made, so he wouldn't be able to take it home until Friday, but Greg was quite pleased with the results so far.

He left the tailor's in good spirits and turned his mind back to the conundrum of picking out a gift for Mycroft. He'd had no sudden bursts of inspiration so decided to simply look around until something spoke to him. Deciding on his first destination he set out determined to at least have an idea by the time he returned home.

 

Mycroft almost felt bad for teasing Gregory the way he had that morning, but then he would remember Gregory walking around in a towel after dinner the night before and his guilt vanished shockingly quickly. The man was a menace to all of Mycroft's senses. Mycroft had every intention of returning the favor. He smiled to himself as he thought about how lovely the weekend was, even with his infirmity. 

His confidence that his and Gregory's relationship would move beyond play acting into reality was absolute. That he still had no idea how to broach the topic was by the by. He currently had a more pressing issue, a Christmas present for Gregory. He hadn't really thought about it until the DI mentioned shopping that morning. Most of the people on his list were easy to shop for, but finding a gift for a potential partner was a foreign concept to Mycroft. 

Anthea walked into his office carrying a stack of files so Mycroft turned his attention to work, vowing to devote more thought to his new conundrum later. 

 

Greg walked into his flat that night feeling utterly defeated. Despite spending the better part of the day looking through obvious, and not so obvious, shops he was still completely stuck. Wondering if he was over thinking things he began to contemplate whether or not it would be worth it to seek outside help. As much as he dreaded the idea of appealing to Sherlock it was quickly looking like his best bet. Sighing he warmed up some leftovers and set to searching the web hoping against hope that inspiration would strike.


	19. December 19th

Mycroft left his last stop of the day amazed that there were actually people who enjoyed the shopping experience. Although he was willing to concede that it might not have been so harrowing an experience had he not waited to go out until the week before Christmas. After his morning meeting he had delegated all his remaining tasks for the day and set out on his quest which, so far, was proving to be fruitless. 

Walking along the high street he was debating between calling his car or looking in on one more shop when he saw a familiar mop of curls entering a nearby jeweler. Intrigued, he followed. If nothing else it would give him an opportunity to take his brother to task for his stunt with Gregory. Entering the shop he was unsurprised to find his brother examining rings.

"Brother mine," Mycroft said, amused that he managed to startle Sherlock. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to find myself in your company."

"A pleasure I most certainly do not share. Now if you'll excuse me, I was just leaving."

"But you've only just arrived," Mycroft replied. He hooked his arm through his brother's preventing him from leaving. "With so little time left before the big day, I would think you would want to take every opportunity possible to insure you find exactly what you're looking for."

"You're slipping, Mycroft."

"Not at all, you're overestimating the number of chances you'll have to complete your errand over the next nine days. A New Year's proposal, how romantic."

How Sherlock was capable of both blushing and scowling at the same time Mycroft had never worked out, but it was still one of the more amusing reactions he could illicit from his brother. 

"And how is your own love life fairing, brother mine?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

They regarded each other in silence for several moments before Sherlock freed his arm and returned his attention to the rings. Mycroft joined him, idly wondering if Gregory would be interested in trying his hand at matrimony again. He watched as his brother's attention kept returning to one ring in particular even as he had the shop clerk show him several other, more impressive, examples.

"You're over thinking things, Sherlock. Go with your instincts on this one."

His brother gave him a sharp look, but refrained from responding directly and instead had the clerk bring out the simpler band he'd been eyeing. After an extremely thorough examination his brother handed it back to the clerk along with his credit card. While Sherlock was distracted Mycroft pulled out his phone and arranged for a pick up. They walked out together just as the car was pulling up. 

"As charming as I find your company, brother dear, I think it's time to part ways."

"I think not, little brother," Mycroft said. "There are still a few things we need to discuss." 

Grabbing his brother's arm once again to prevent him from bolting he manhandled him into the waiting vehicle. Once inside with the doors locked he released his hold. He rolled his eyes as Sherlock made a grand show of sitting as far away from him as possible. Mycroft directed his driver to deliver them to Baker St. by means of the longest route possible. Then he waited. He calculated it would take 12 minutes for Sherlock to crack. He was off by 45 seconds. 

"You are incredibly quiet for someone who is convinced that we actually have anything to discuss."

"Given you know exactly what I wish to discuss I thought it best if I let you lead off."

They fell back into silence. Mycroft was grudgingly impressed by how long his brother held his tongue. It wasn't until they turned onto Baker Street and Mycroft began instructing the driver to circle the block that his brother spoke again. 

"Ok, fine! I had to be sure."

"Sure of what, exactly?"

"Sure of you."

"Elaborate."

"It has been obvious since the beginning that you and Lestrade found each other physically attractive. It became equally obvious, once he started dating again, that Lestrade's attraction had evolved beyond mere physicality. What was less obvious was your own level of attraction. That you would happily engage in.....relations....was clear, but whether or not you were capable of extending the type of care and affection Lestrade deserves was another question entirely. I was not about to allow him to pursue his hideous preference for you unless I was satisfied with the answer."

Mycroft leaned back, startled by such an obvious admission of sentiment from his brother. That was not at all the answer he'd been expecting. He had in fact assumed that his motivation would have stemmed from a desire to keep him and the good Inspector apart.

"And were you satisfied with the answer?"

"I've allowed the two of you to continue your revolting courtship, have I not?"

"I'm still not sure that poisoning him and giving him a concussion was necessary."

"I like to be thorough," he replied. "Besides, it gave you an excuse to play house for a weekend, so I'm not sure why you're complaining."

The car pulled up to 221B and Mycroft unlocked the doors. Sherlock was halfway out the door before he turned around to address Mycroft once more. 

"In regards to Grayson's Christmas present, you should follow your own advice. Don't over think things. You know what you both want, follow your instincts."

Sherlock slammed the car door in his face before Mycroft could reply. Sighing he sat back in his seat directing his driver to take him home.

A few blocks over, at The Three Feathers, Greg and John were having their own earnest discussion. In his frustration with still not having found a gift for Mycroft, Greg had decided to come completely clean with John about his mysterious relationship. It was clear Sherlock already knew, so there really wasn't any harm in telling his friend. 

"That is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard," John said after Greg had finished explaining the situation. "You and Mycroft. Can't say I saw that coming, but given the number of times I've caught him checking out your ass, I can't really say I'm surprised either."

"Well that's something at least," Greg replied, wondering why this was the first he was hearing about ass ogling. "So any suggestions about a gift?"

"A blow job?"

"Not helpful. Besides, if everything goes to plan I'll be giving him plenty of those anyway. I also want to give him something he has to unwrap."

"I'm guessing you don't want to know my suggestions that comment has inspired," John said, snickering. 

Greg threw a chip at him and polished off his pint. Signaling for two more he was grateful that John appeared to be giving the matter serious thought now that he'd gotten the jokes out of the way. He casually scanned the pub while he waited for his friend to speak again.

"What do you want to get him?"

"If I knew what to get him, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Yeah, I know, but I assume you're main concern is finding him something he'll like that isn't something he's likely to get for himself, right?"

"Yeah."

"So if you could get him anything in the world, if the only thing you were to take into account are your and his preferences, no worries about appropriateness or timing or money, what would you get him?"

"I don't..."

Greg didn't finish the sentence. Put like that he knew exactly what he wanted to get Mycroft. Unfortunately, he was worried about appropriateness and it was in fact much too soon for what he was thinking despite their decade long acquaintance. 

"Ok, but--"

"No. No buts. You know what you want to get him, now follow that train of thought until you figure out how to translate that into the real world."

They nursed their pints in silence as Greg mulled over what his friend had said. It wasn't the magic answer he was looking for, but he at least knew now what avenues he should be exploring. 

"Yeah, alright. Thanks mate."

"Not a problem."

Greg and John parted ways shortly after and Greg spent the rest of the evening following his friend's advice. It was as he was getting ready for bed that the answer hit him. It was a simple, yet heartfelt, thing that fit all of Greg's requirements. And fairly obvious now that he'd thought of it. He fell asleep hoping that Mycroft would accept it.


	20. December 20th

Greg took his time getting ready for the party, even going through the extra steps necessary to give himself a straight razor shave. It was, thankfully not black tie, but it was a party where most of the guests would no exactly who Mycroft was. He wanted to make sure his appearance reflected well on the man he was wooing. 

He chose one of his new suits to wear, almost regretful that he wouldn't be wearing the tux yet. He'd had his final fitting that morning and it was easily the best he'd ever looked in formal wear. It was also far more comfortable than any other tux he'd previously worn. It would only be two more days after tonight though, so he would just have to be patient. 

He was about to head down so he could meet the car when there was a knock on the door. Confirming it was Mycroft he opened the door. He kissed him on the cheek by way of greeting, before inviting him in.

"You didn't have to come up," he said. 

"On the contrary, if I hadn't come up, I wouldn't have been able to give you this," Mycroft replied, pulling a single rose from behind his back. It was yellow with red tips and if Greg remembered correctly what that meant, then it was a very good sign in deed. Before he could do more than accept his token, Mycroft continued; "I also wanted the chance to greet you properly, before we set out."

Properly, as it turned out, involved Mycroft wrapping one of his arms around Greg's waist while the other cupped his cheek and kissing him until they were forced to pull back for air. Then sharing several more toe curling kisses for good measure. They only parted after Mycroft's phone buzzed with a reminder from his driver that it was time to depart. Greg quickly put the rose in some water, threw on his coat, and the two of them headed out into the night.

Later, as he watched him competently lead Lady Smallwood in a waltz, Mycroft once again marveled at the man that was Gregory Lestrade. And marveled also at the idea that he should be the recipient of his affections. His conversation with Sherlock had put a few things into perspective for him, not that he would admit it out loud, and he was looking forward to the conclusion of their farce so that they might begin their relationship properly. He hoped his Christmas present would go some way towards illuminating his intentions. 

Mycroft was gratified to see Gregory making his way back to his side once the dance concluded. Checking the time he realised they'd been there long enough satisfy etiquette and wondered how Gregory would feel about an early night. Though not his typical circle, the man was clearly enjoying himself. Even if he'd never interacted with most of them previously his work with Sherlock made him a known quantity and his presence had been readily accepted.

"Not that I'm not enjoying myself, but any thoughts on how long we might stay here?" Gregory asked as soon as he gained Mycroft's side.

"We can leave at any time, actually."

"Then let's say we get out of here and find somewhere a little quieter."

"If you wish," Mycroft replied with a smile.

"Oh, I wish."

Mycroft suppressed a shiver at Gregory's tone which suggested a wealth of naughty possibilities. Taking his date's hand he lead him through the ballroom to the hall so that they could collect their coats. They were waiting at the coat check when Mycroft pulled his phone to call the car. He was stopped by Gregory placing his hand over his mobile. Mycroft looked at him, questioning.

"I have another idea," Gregory said by way of explanation. 

"Alright," Mycroft replied, pocketing the device. 

They donned their coats and Mycroft allowed Gregory to take the lead as they stepped out into the city. Mycroft was surprised when instead of hailing a taxi Gregory offered his arm which he took with chuckle.

"You're up to something," Mycroft said.

"Maybe." 

They walked along in amiable silence making a series of turns of which Mycroft could make neither heads nor tails. He knew this part of town very well and he had absolutely no idea where Gregory was leading him. The mystery deepened when they turned down a narrow alleyway. 

"Gregory?" 

"Trust me," he answered grinning. 

"Always." 

Gregory stopped at that and pulled him into a searing kiss. Mycroft wrapped his arms around the Inspector and pulled him as close as he could physically could. He didn't let go until it became necessary for them to breathe. Gregory was pulling him farther into the alleyway by the lapels of his coat before Mycroft could kiss him again. Something he wanted to do very much. 

Gregory brought them to a halt in front of a heavy metal door and knocked twice. A small door, at eye level, that Mycroft hadn't noticed opened revealing the face of a surly looking man.

"Yeah?"

"Mickey sent us," Gregory shot back.

The man slammed the door shut, then the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn back echoed in the passageway. The door was opened just wide enough for the two of them to enter single file. Smirking, Gregory guided him in through first with a hand in the small of his back. The vestibule was a small dingy room that reminded Mycroft of the warehouses he occasionally used to interview people. The man closed the door as soon as Gregory cleared it, then muscled his way past them to open the door in the opposite wall.

Gregory crowded close behind him, placing his hands on Mycroft's hips, guiding him through the second door and down a flight of stairs. At the bottom there was another door which Gregory reached passed him to open it, pressing a kiss to Mycroft's neck as he did so. Moving through Mycroft realised that they were in some sort of club. Though clearly new, it was designed with an older aesthetic and atmosphere in mind. It brought to mind the Kit Kat Club from Cabaret only quieter and more subdued.

"What is this place?"

"It's called Odd Duck Club. An old buddy of mine runs it. Come on."

They wended through the main room, skirting tables and patrons, finally taking one of the rounded booths in corner on the opposite side of room from the small band that was playing in the corner. After ordering drinks they settled easily into conversation, Gregory telling him stories about his friend and the hijinks they engaged in when they were younger. Mycroft reciprocated with tales of boarding school and university. Before either of them had realised it was gone midnight. Reluctantly they payed their bill and left to meet the car. 

Once inside the familiar space Mycroft directed his driver to to take the long way to Gregory's flat before raising the privacy shield. With their privacy finally assured Mycroft kissed Gregory with all the passion that had been simmering just under the surface since their kiss in the alley. Making quick work of his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt, Mycroft kissed his way down Gregory's neck. He made sure to pay special attention to the pulse point located at the juncture of his shoulder. Gregory kept himself busy by untucking the back of his shirt, running his hands over Mycroft's lower back his thumbs flirting with the top of Mycroft's trousers occasionally dipping just below the band. They continued kissing until they pulled up in front of Gregory's building. 

"Come up and stay the night," Gregory implored, his hands still busy caressing Mycroft's back and hips.

"I can't, not tonight at any rate."

Gregory groaned in frustration, resting his head on Mycroft's shoulder. After a moment he kissed his neck and asked roughly; "When?"

"Not until Saturday I'm afraid, but then I'll be free until just after the New Year."

"I'll hold you to that." Gregory kissed him once more then hurriedly exited the car. "Don't make any plans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone again for sticking with this story. Your kudos and comments have kept me going, even if it takes me an age to update.


	21. December 21st

Greg woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. He smiled as he stretched then promptly stopped smiling when he remembered that there shouldn't be anyone in his flat brewing said coffee. As unlikely as it was that an intruder who meant him harm would take the time to make coffee, it wouldn't be the oddest thing that had happened to him since he became embroiled with the Holmes brothers; as such he approached his kitchen quietly his service weapon in hand. He was relieved, if also highly annoyed, when he peeked around the door frame to see John sitting at the island drinking tea.

"Did no one ever tell you that it's dangerous to break into people's flats?" Greg asked, stepping into view.

"Probably," replied John, grinning until he noticed what Greg was carrying. "Oh, um, yeah, now that you mention it, I probably should have thought this through a bit more."

"You think?"

"If it makes you feel better, I used Sherlock's key."

"Seeing as I never gave him a key, I can't say it does. Pour me a mug while I put this away," Greg said, already heading back to his bedroom.

Once there he stored his weapon and took a minute to shake out the fight or flight response. He considered putting on proper clothing, but ultimately saw no reason to upset his plans of doing absolutely nothing in his most comfortable clothes just because John Watson decided to pay a surprise visit. He did stop by the loo to make room for the coffee and to brush his teeth though before rejoining his friend.

"Cheers, mate," Greg greeted as John handed him a mug full to the brim. He carefully took a few sips before inquiring; "So what brings you to my humble kitchen on this fine Thursday morning?"

"Mycroft."

"Whatever he asked you to do must be particularly ridiculous if you're letting yourself into my flat." 

"He hasn't asked me to do anything. I would say he doesn't know I'm here, but it is Mycroft we're talking about."

They both chuckled at that while Greg pulled out some bread and put it in the toaster, John declining any for himself. Greg waited until it was done and slathered in jam before continuing their conversation. 

"Alright, if Mycroft didn't send you, why are you here?"

"Well Sherlock and I were talking about your situation the other night and it occurred to me that Mycroft didn't have anybody on his side on this one."

"Mycroft always has people on his side. Highly trained and loyal people at that. Anthea comes to mind."

"Anthea is too happy the two of you have, and I quote, "finally pulled your heads out of your arses" to be properly objective about the situation. Both she and Sherlock would be far more inclined to handcuff the two of you to a bed if things turned sour than actually sort out what was actually in either of your best interests. And since Sally has already had a little talk with Mycroft--"

"Wait, how do you know that Sally has spoken with Mycroft? And when did you talk to Anthea."

"I ran into Anthea at Bart's when we were both visiting our respective partners and I saw Sally at the Yard yesterday when I was returning Dimcock's warrant badges."

"It's Dimmock."

"Is really shouldn't be. Now focus, Greg."

"I'm focussed."

"Good. Now since Sally has already had a little talk with Mycroft, it made me realise that someone should give a similar talk to you. In a normal family this kind of thing would fall to Sherlock, but we already know his thoughts on the situation."

"Is this the 'you hurt him, I hurt you' speech?"

"Yes."

"Sally said that to Mycroft?"

"Yes. And the fact that he accepted her threats gracefully is a very good sign, especially given her history with Sherlock."

"There is that. So are you going to say the actual words, or..."

"I believe I've gotten my point across."

They stared at each other while Greg shoved the last bit of toast into his mouth. Convoluted as the situation was he knew that John was right and was touched by his friend's willingness to step up for Mycroft. He finally swallowed and followed it up with a healthy swig of coffee.

"You're a good man, John Watson."

"And don't you forget it."

"I won't."

 

It was gone 9 o'clock by the time Mycroft had cleared out the backlog of paperwork left over from his trip. Given how much work he had left to insure he had the time off that he'd promised Gregory he was seriously considering carrying on and sleeping at the office. It wouldn't be the first time. He stood up to stretch when a soft knock fell on his door.

"Come," he called out, straighting his waistcoat. He was surprised when Lady Smallwood walked in closing the door behind her. "Lady Smallwood, has something happened?"

"No, this is a personal visit."

Mycroft had no idea what to make of that, so simply fell back on his manners. "Please have a seat."

"Thank you," she replied taking the chair in front of his desk.

"Drink?" he asked, already moving to the tantalus.

"Please."

He poured them both a brandy then resumed his seat after serving her. He had little idea what to do in this sort of situation. For all that he was closer to her than the rest of his colleagues, save Anthea, and they were friendly enough when they interacted, she had never before sought him out outside of their work. He truly had no idea what she wished to discuss. Thankfully she didn't keep him wondering long.

"I wanted to ask you how things were going with Detective Inspector Lestrade."

Mycroft took a large sip of brandy to give him time to formulate an answer. 

"Oh don't look like that, Mycroft," she continued before he could respond. "I'm the closest thing you have to a friend, other than Inspector Lestrade, and now that the two of you have seen fit to take the next step in your relationship you're going to need someone to help you navigate these unfamiliar waters."

Mycroft downed the rest of his drink in a most unbecoming fashion. He stood up to refill his glass and to contemplate her offer. His first instinct was to politely dismiss her, her offer, and all similar overtures in the future. However, he was changing other aspects of his life, so why shouldn't this be another one. If the mess with Moriarty had taught him anything, it was that he could not carry on as he had been. He brought the decanter back to the desk with him and sat before answering. 

"Things seem to be going well. There was a bit of a hiccup after my trip to The Continent, but other than that we are moving in a mutually satisfying direction."

"I'm thrilled to hear it," she said, raising her glass slightly in a small toast. "I was beginning to fear that the two of you would never get on with it."

Mycroft almost choked on his drink, but managed to contain himself and swallow before sputtering out; "I beg your pardon?"

"I didn't get this job simply due to my looks and title, you know. It wasn't terribly obvious, but I've known you a long time, Mycroft, and watching the two of you assist Sherlock this past year with the Moriarty affair I was able to connect the dots."

"I see."

"I actually can't stay any longer, I have a date myself this evening, but I won't be back until after Boxing Day and wished to offer my felicitations as well as open the lines of communication so to speak. He's a good man, Mycroft and I'm happy for you," she said, before finishing her drink and standing. "No, no, don't get up, I can see myself out."

Mycroft sank back into his chair after half standing and watched in stunned silence as she exited his office. He knew Lady Smallwood was perceptive, but he'd never imagined she could read him so well. He was now exceptionally curious to see where this new development in their dynamic would lead. He was also surprisingly pleased at such open acceptance of his new beau. All in all he considered the impromptu meeting a success. 

Finishing his drink, he poured a third one before making up the couch. He knew he wouldn't get any more work done so he might as well try to get some sleep.


	22. December 22nd

Mycroft was up at five and back to work by five thirty determined to have his desk cleared by six that he might get home at a reasonable hour and relax in preparation for tomorrow night. He worked like a man possessed, determined that nothing short of nuclear strike or the outbreak of WWIII would interrupt his time with Gregory. Anthea, eager for her own holiday, was right there along with him having arrived at six with coffee and breakfast. 

Together they slogged through and delegated all new business to those who would one day replace them. So intent was he on his task that he was quite startled when Anthea announced it was time for lunch. Given their progress he decided to go to the nearby cafe he favored both as a reward and a break from the room he'd been in for nearly thirty six hours.

He walked, enjoying the cold crisp air as he stretched his legs. He rang Gregory on the way hoping to finalise plans for the following evening as well as to simply hear his voice. Unfortunately it went to voicemail, so Mycroft left a message and tried to content himself with the knowledge that he would be seeing him the next day. His disappointment was short lived, however, as he stepped into the cafe to find Gregory sitting at Mycroft's usual table.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Mycroft asked as he settled into the seat opposite his friend. 

"Because I wanted to surprise you and I couldn't do that if you're deducing my location from the background noises now can I?" He paused to pour Mycroft a glass of water from the carafe. "Besides now I have a recording of your voice to listen to anytime I fancy."

"Well, I cannot argue against that logic. I assume Anthea told you where to find me."

"You assume wrongly."

"Oh?"

"Given the time you plan to have off, I knew you'd hole yourself up in your office until everything was sorted to your satisfaction. I also know that this is one of your favorite restaurants. It didn't take any great leaps of logic to figure out this is where you'd come when you needed a break from your office."

"I have mentioned this cafe only twice in all the time I've known you."

"What can I say?" Gregory asked as he entangled their fingers together on top of the table. "I've been paying attention."

"I see."

"Good, I wouldn't want there to be any confusion on this point."

They were interrupted by their server before Mycroft could respond. Disentangling their fingers they ordered lunch before settling into less fraught conversational waters. By the time lunch concluded they had firmed up their plans for the following evening and Mycroft left far more refreshed than he would have been had he dined alone. The sweet kiss they'd shared after Gregory had walked him back to the office was particularly motivating. For the first time in a long time Mycroft was truly looking forward to time away from the office.

Greg returned home from lunch in high spirits. Having seen Mycroft, even briefly, had buoyed his mood considerably. As did the knowledge that such surprise visits would be welcome. For all that both of them were taking steps to lessen their work loads, their schedules would still be likely to play silly buggers with the time they could be spending with each other and knowing that squeezing in lunches like the one they just shared was heartening.

He'd picked up his tux on the way home and hung it carefully in his wardrobe. Then he pulled out a hold all and began packing for his time at Mycroft's. Officially they'd be there only for the night, but Greg highly doubted he'd be home again before Boxing Day. At least he wouldn't be if everything went as well as he was hoping. 

Packing didn't take terribly long, after which he found himself at loose ends. There was little more to do now than wait and he found himself too keyed up to properly relax. After failing to settle into his novel or find something on netflix he decided to ring up John. Thankfully his friend was free and he was soon off to The Three Feathers. John beat him there and was sitting, pints waiting, at there usual table. 

"Thanks for meeting me."

"Not a problem. You sounded a bit jumpy on the phone, what's going on?"

"Nothing really, just nervous about tomorrow night," he answered. He took a sip of his beer before continuing; "I know it seems ridiculous given everything else, but..."

"Are you worried about your ex?"

"My ex? Why would I be worried about her?"

"She's going to be at the party tomorrow night. She's the reason you asked out Mycroft in the first place. Ring any bells?"

"Oh christ, I'd forgotten about her," Greg groaned running a hand over his face in frustration. "And to clarify, she was the excuse I used to ask out Mycroft, not the reason."

"My apologies. Regardless, I can't imagine seeing her again will be all that pleasant even though you'll be showing her up spectacularly."

"You're right. And you're probably right about that being one of the reasons I was nervous to begin with."

"Could it also be that you're nervous for the consummation?"

Greg choked on his pint and John laughed as he watched him sputter trying to catch his breath. 

"You bastard. You did that on purpose," he accused, mopping up the beer he'd spit out. "And consummation? Have you been at the romance novels again?"

"Better than the dreck you read. And don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't answer the question."

Greg took another sip of his drink glaring at his friend who was attempting to look innocent. He made a great show of setting his glass down and arranging his beer mat before answering.

"No. I am not nervous." He waited until John was taking his own drink before continuing; "I'm anticipatory. He does this thing with his tongue when he kisses that I just know..."

"Stop, stop," John managed to get out despite his own sputtering. 

"You earned that, you dick."

"Alright, fair is fair."

Greg fetched another round and a stack of napkins and they turned to more mundane topics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took an age, but it is up. Next chapter will be The Party. 
> 
> Please note that the rating will be going up at that time.


	23. December 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW non graphic sexual harassment/assault and biphobic behavior

Mycroft was nervous. Sitting in his car, about to pull onto Gregory's street, he was indisputably nervous. It was completely ridiculous given all that they'd shared over the month, not to mention the ten years that came before. Was it the knowledge that they would be performing for an audience at the party? Or perhaps it was the knowledge that both of them would be 'performing' for each other after said party. Regardless he was as nervous now as he was the first time he met Her Majesty. 

The car rolled to a stop and he realised that Gregory was already outside waiting for him. Bundled up against the cold, his overcoat hid his tux from Mycroft's view. The bag at the older man's feet reminded him of what he had to look forward to after the party. Mycroft swallowed hard as he watched his friend hand off the bag to his driver before sliding into the seat next to him.

"Good eve--"

He was cut off by Gregory's lips on his. It was brief and chaste compared to other kisses they'd shared, but Mycroft felt it all the way down to his toes. It was full of promise and hinted at everything they would be sharing later that evening and, if Mycroft had his way, for many evenings to come. They parted reluctantly as the driver resumed his seat and pulled the car away from the curb.

"You didn't have to wait outside, Gregory. I would have come up to collect you."

"If you'd come up to collect me, we never would have made it to the party."

"Do you truly have so little faith in my self control?"

"Is that meant to be a challenge?"

Mycroft was greatful for the darkness as he felt himself blush fiercely. Thankfully Gregory changed the subject and they passed the rest of the ride exchanging idle pleasantries about their days. By the time that they arrived at the hotel, Mycroft was far more at peace than he had been earlier. That peace was shattered, however, when they reached the coat check and he had his first sight of Gregory in his new tux. For the first time since his adolescence he found himself speechless. He would have been embarrassed had Gregory not been similarly afflicted. 

"Mycroft..."

Mycroft followed the motion of Gregory's Adam's apple as he swallowed taking him all in. They may have stood there staring at one another for longer had someone behind them not pointedly cleared their throats. For the second time that night Mycroft felt himself furiously blushing. Gregory just laughed and took his hand leading him into the ballroom.

Despite being black tie, the atmosphere was far more casual than any of the other parties they'd attended with no set order of activities. Already some were on the dance floor while others helped themselves from the buffet that was laid out. And in addition to the standard champagne and eggnog being passed out by waiters there were two bars set up, one on either end of the room. Given his nervousness about future activities, Mycroft was exceedingly grateful that he would not have to worry over much about etiquette. 

Mycroft acquired two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Handing one to Gregory, he raised his own; "To a lovely evening."

"To an even better night," Gregory responded, gently tapping his glass against Mycroft's before drinking deeply. 

"Do you think she's here yet?" Mycroft asked after swallowing his own sip.

"Who?"

"Your ex-wife," Mycroft replied, smiling. He watched the emotions play over Gregory's face as he mentally scrambled to recall the reason they had ostensibly embarked on their 'ruse'.

"Oh yeah. Her." Gregory finished off his drink before continuing, "I highly doubt it. She was always a big believer in being 'fashionably late'."

"I see. Well if that's the case..." 

Mycroft finished off his own drink, placed their glasses on a nearby table then pulled Gregory out onto the dance floor. Swinging him gracefully into his arms Mycroft led Gregory through a quick step, grateful to have his hands on the gorgeous man even in a platonic fashion. The smile that lit up his partner's face more than made up for the occasional toe trodding. 

They continued dancing through several more songs before Gregory steered them off the dance floor with a comment about needing to eat. Splitting the duties, Mycroft collected drinks while Gregory handled the food. They reconvened at a small table tucked in a corner. The following hour was spent in pleasant conversation.

Having eaten his fill, Greg pushed his seat back from the table and draped his arm across the back of Mycroft's chair. He idly ran his thumb across Mycroft's shoulder as he waited for the man to finish his dessert. A server came by with more champagne just as he was laying his fork across the plate. Greg smiled when the younger man silently toasted him after the server withdrew.

"We should probably mingle a bit at this point," Greg said, wishing he could simply whisk the politician away already.

"I fear you are correct."

Still, it was a full ten minutes before either of them moved to do so. Even then it was only because another couple wanted their table. Leaving the other pair to it, Greg took Mycroft by the hand and began a circuit of the room. They stopped here and there to speak with Greg's acquaintances while he counted down the minutes until they could escape. Mycroft excused himself to the loo and Greg was actively hoping that they wouldn't run into his ex-wife. Naturally, that was the moment she chose to corner him.

"Greg! It is so good to see you," she purred. 

"Hello Victoria," he replied, backing up as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Unfortunately his back hit the wall and she managed to catch him full on the lips. Though she stepped back after she moved her hand from his shoulder to his chest and fiddled with his lapel.

"I was hoping I would see you here tonight. Of course I never dreamed you would show up looking so good. Have you been working out?"

"No." He scanned the room over her head desperately searching for Mycroft. " Excuse me," he said, stepping to the side. She mirrored the movement and grabbed his arm with her free hand.

"What's the rush? We haven't seen each other in ages." Pressing up against him she continued, "We should catch up."

"I doubt my date would appreciate that very much."

"What date? I've been watching you since I got here."

"Then you should have noticed the gorgeous red head I was with." She laughed at that, irritating Greg even more than her hideous flirting had. "We are actually planning on leaving as soon as he returns from the lav."

"Why would you want to hang out with one of your friends when you could catch up with me?"

"He's not my friend, he's my boyfriend."

"If you wanted me to believe you were seeing someone you should have brought a woman," she said, laughing some more and sliding her hand down his chest. Greg caught her by the wrist before she could reach his groin.

"Stop."

"Why? I remember what you like and how you like it."

"If that were true, you would listen to me and leave me alone."

"Playing hard to get, that's new," she said. She let go of his arm only to reach around and grab his ass. "Don't worry, baby, I'll still respect you in the morning."

"I said no." He managed to squirm out from between her and the wall, releasing her wrist as soon as he did so. "I'm in love with Mycroft and he is the only person I have any interest in."

He was about to make his escape when she launched herself at him. Instinctively he caught her and she latched onto him kissing him on the lips again. Before he could react she was sliding off of him and looking over his shoulder. 

"Oh, hello. Greg and I were just reacquainting ourselves. You now how it can be when lovers reconnect."

Greg turned around to find Mycroft staring at him and Victoria with disgust. Victoria was attempting to insinuate herself against him again even as he continued to shuffle away from her. Greg was still trying to figure out what to do when Mycroft slipped his hand into the crook of Greg's arm and pulled him to his side. 

"If you'll excuse us, Ms. Stokes, Gregory and I need to have a word outside."

"I'll be waiting for you when I get back," she called, even though Mycroft was all but marching Greg out of the room.

Greg tried to say something, anything, but Mycroft hushed him. Numbly Greg let Mycroft hustle him into his coat and out into the waiting car. Once they were on their way a torrent of apologies came pouring out of his mouth. He recognised that he was babbling but couldn't stop himself. He was talking so fast that he had difficulty catching his breath.

Mycroft's heart ached as he watched his wonderful Gregory have what he could only assume was a panic attack. When Gregory started hyperventilating Mycroft forced the man to put his head between his knees. Rubbing circles in his back Mycroft repeated variations of 'it's not your fault' as he waited for his partner to calm down.

When he'd come across that harpy accosting Gregory he felt a fury he hadn't experienced in ages. It was all he could do not to execute her on the spot. He had intended on interrupting sooner, but he had been struck by Gregory's declaration. His pause, unfortunately, had emboldened the hag inspiring her attempt to make him jealous by literally throwing herself at Gregory. And it would seem that his beloved believed Mycroft was mad at him. 

It took the entire ride home for Gregory to calm down. When they arrived Mycroft gently helped him into the house and up to the bedroom. Sitting him on the edge of the bed, Mycroft stepped into the en suite and started running a bath. Leaving the tub to fill he stepped back to the bedroom to find Gregory shrugging out of both his coat and jacket.

"I apologise for giving you the impression that I was angry at you," Mycroft said, toeing off his shoes and shucking off his own coat and jacket. "The only reason I dragged you out of there like I did was both to rescue you and to prevent myself from committing homicide"

"I have no idea why I reacted that way. I'm sorry for freaking out on you in the car."

"No apologies are not necessary for that, my dear. Everyone reacts differently to," he paused there knowing what he would call what he saw, but not wishing to put words in Gregory's mouth found a gentler phrasing; "that sort of situation."

"I suppose so," Gregory replied. He continued when he noticed Mycroft was almost down to his pants; "I'm not really in the mood any more, Mycroft."

Mycroft hastily pulled his trousers back up feeling quite foolish for considering how his actions might appear to Gregory. 

"I'm running us a bath, I thought you might find it soothing. You are actually under no obligation to allow me to join you of course. I should actually check on that."

Mycroft bear a quick retreat to the bathroom where he shut off the taps. He scrubbed his hands over his face wondering what he should do next. It was bad enough that that hideous creature had upset Gregory, but now he was making it worse. He was about to return to the bedroom when Gregory hugged him from behind.

"I think a bath sounds lovely, particularly with you in it. Thank you." Mycroft relaxed as he felt Gregory press his forehead to the base of his neck. "You, however, are over dressed for this event." 

"Something I plan to rectify now that I know we're on the same page." 

"I'm glad to hear it." 

The bath ended up being exactly what Greg needed and he was feeling much better by the time they got out. They had spoken little while they soaked, trading soft touches and occasional kisses. Mycroft insisted on taking the time to dry him off, gently toweling every inch of his person. Greg wasn't sure why he was so shook up, it wasn't the first time he'd been hit on by someone he wasn't interested in, but was greatful for the care and attention Mycroft was taking with him.

"This isn't how I saw this evening going," Greg said as they were getting dressed. 

"Nor I, but I'm glad I got to spend it with you regardless," Mycroft replied. "I don't know about you, but I am more than ready to go to bed and put this night behind us."

"That sounds like close to the perfect plan."

"Oh, what did I leave out?" 

"This," Greg said, reaching for Mycroft. He kissed him slowly pouring into it all the love and affection he had for this wonderful man. "You make my world a better place."

"And you mine."

They shared one more kiss before getting into bed cuddling close. Greg was almost asleep when he heard the barest of whispers. 

"I love you too, Gregory Lestrade."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter took an unexpected turn.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is still reading this fic. My depression has been really bad the past few months and I got super stuck on this chapter, but I'm hoping it won't be too long before the next chapter goes up.


	24. December 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, the rating has gone up! There is smut of questionable quality at the end of the chapter!

Of all the ways Greg had pictured spending Christmas Eve dealing with a "minor" explosion at Baker Street had not been one of them. Now, instead if rolling around in Mycroft's sinfully large bed, doing equally sinful things with owner of said bed, he was sitting in Bart's with John drinking crappy canteen coffee. Sherlock was currently being looked over, despite his objections, for some burns and cuts. Mycroft was off working whatever magic was involved in cleaning up Sherlock's messes.

"I'm going to kill both of you."

"Could be worse."

"That thought doesn't actually make it better, Jawn." Greg took a grim sort of satisfaction at the look that crossed John's face at his deliberate mispronunciation of his name. "Where on earth did he get gunpowder anyway?"

"Erm..."

"Please don't actually answer that."

"Let's change the subject then. How was the party?"

"It was great, it was really great, until my ex showed up."

"Wasn't showing up your ex the entire point?"

"Yes, but I didn't count on her completely disregarding the fact that Mycroft and I are together and then literally throwing herself at me."

"That is a bit not good."

"That's one way of putting it. How on earth she thinks she would have any kind of shot with me, I don't know, but the way she just dismissed Mycroft. The whole incident brought the entire evening down."

"I'm sorry about that, mate.'

"Yeah. Thanks."

"So how long do you think it will be until the cleaning crew is done making the flat habitable again?"

"Not soon enough."

 

Mycroft strode into Sherlock's holding pen just as Molly was placing the last piece of tape on one of many bandages now adorning his hands. Mycroft approved heartily of the less than necessary 'smoothing' of the tape that accompanied the action. Despite scowling fiercely, Sherlock blessedly held his tongue.

"He'll need to keep his hands bandaged for the next five days, but after that he'll be right as rain," Molly said, snapping off her gloves.

"Thank you, Miss Hooper. We are, as ever, in your debt."

"You can help repay it by insuring that I am not disturbed for the remainder of my holiday."

"I'll do my best. Anthea is waiting for you downstairs with a car. Merry Christmas to both of you."

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

Mycroft waited for Molly to leave before turning to his brother. "I should box your ears you horrid brat."

"Still have not managed to consummate your new relationship I see."

"That is none of your business, brother." Grudgingly Mycroft helped him into his coat once it became apparent he could not manage with his bandaged hands. "I have it on good authority that the flat will be ready within in the hour."

"Naturally. Your hired goons are nothing if not efficient."

"And they will not be available to you, nor will I, Greg, Miss Hooper, or any of the many people who protect you from the consequences of your own actions, for the remainder of the season. Should you decide to distract yourself from your nerves over your pending engagement in such a destructive manner again, you and you alone, will be the one dealing with it. I trust I've made myself clear."

"As if I care."

"You'll care very much if Dr. Watson decides to go to his sister's for the holidays."

Mycroft discretely ignored the quickly inhaled breath that that message at least had been received. They exited the room together walking swiftly through the halls, both eager to get back to the men who had proven that caring could be an advantage. Mycroft was about to pass through the last door when Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"John, he....that is...."

"There is not a doubt in my mind that he will accept your suit and do so gladly. He loves you. He loves you even when you are wreaking havoc. Perhaps, in the interest of maintaining the peace, you might move up your timetable."

You might have a point."

"I often do. Something you would know if you ever bothered to listen to me," Mycroft replied, reaching again for the door, only to be stymied by Sherlock again.

"Just know that if you're wrong then I will insure you pay for your mistake for a very long time." 

With that pronouncement Sherlock swept through the door, leaving Mycroft to chuckle at his dramatics. By the time he collected himself and followed, Sherlock and John were gone. Without thought he went straight to Gregory and kissed him full on the mouth, sinking into the arms that rose to embrace him.

"What was that for?" Gregory asked once Mycroft had drawn back from the kiss.

"For being the most patient man in existence."

Gregory chuckled, nuzzling the side of Mycroft's face; "I do believe that title belongs to you. You've had to put up with his nonsense far longer than I have."

"Perhaps," he conceded, reluctantly drawing back. "Well, since we're already out and about would you like to stop somewhere and have lunch?"

"Sounds perfect."

 

Lunch turned into a long walk through Hyde Park and then window shopping in Mayfair before they grabbed a take away for dinner and headed home. It wasn't what Greg had thought the day would be like, but it turned into a delightful day that he wouldn't trade for anything. Now they were stretched out on the couch in the lounge, dinner long ago consumed, lit only by the Christmas tree they lazily kissed each other. Greg was about to suggest a change in location when Mycroft pulled himself up and off the sofa.

"Come, there are far more comfortable places to continue this," Mycroft said, pulling Greg to his feet.

"Yes."

Greg allowed himself to be led by the hand to Mycroft's room. Once there he disengaged his hand from Mycroft's only so that he could take the man's face in his hands before kissing him softly. Slowly he walked him backwards until the were just before the bed. As much as he'd anticipated this moment, now that he was here he just wanted a moment to savour it. Still cradling his face, Mycroft's hands a delightful, warm weight at his hips, Greg took a half a step back and just looked.

"What?"

"I'm so glad we made it here, finally."

"Finally?" Mycroft questioned as he turned his head to pepper kisses along Greg's palm.

"Surely by now you've realised that I asked you to that party because I fancied you," Greg said. Leaning back in he moved his hands down Mycroft's neck, down to his shoulders, taking the time to map them with his hands before finally progressing down his side's to finally slide behind Mycroft pulling them flush. "That I have, in fact, fancied you for a quite a long time."

"I guessed, but hope has a way of clouding one's judgement."

"Hope?"

"Hope that you desired me as much as I have desired you, as much as I still desire you."

Mycroft let his hands slide around to cradle Greg's bum, pulling him even closer in order to grind their erections together before claiming his mouth in an incendiary kiss. That move broke the damn and soon they were pulling at each other's clothing. Tangled up in his own jumper the absurdity of their haste struck Greg and he began giggling even as he managed to free himself.

"And just what is so funny, Gregory?"

"Us, getting tangled in our clothes like teenagers," he replied, toeing off his shoes and socks. Pushing Mycroft to sit on the bed he knelt down between his legs. "Start on that," Greg said, indicating Mycroft's waistcoat and shirt with a jerk of his head; "I'll start down here and meet you in the middle."

Greg made quick work of Mycroft's footwear, enjoying how far he had to run his hands up Mycroft's trousers in order to reach the top of his socks. He almost broke out in giggles again when he realised he was wearing sock garters as well. He buried his face in Mycroft's thigh in order to suppress the impulse. He looked up after he heard Mycroft drop his waistcoat and shirt on the floor behind him.

"Christ you're beautiful."

"You've seen me naked before, my dear," Mycroft replied, leaning down to pull Greg's shirt up and over his head tossing it to join his own clothes.

"Not like this I haven't."

He surged up and kissed him before settling himself back on his knees between Mycroft's legs. Slowly Greg undid the man's belt and button, pausing before easing the zipper down at a glacial pace. All the while Mycroft was running his hands over every bit of Greg he could reach. He stopped when Greg playfully licked the head of Mycroft's penis that was revealed peaking through the slit of his boxer shorts. Moaning, Mycroft tried to pull Greg up, but Greg had another idea.

Pulling down Mycroft's pants just enough to free his erection, Greg licked the full length now presented to him from root to tip. Slowly he took as much of him into his mouth as he could, using his hand to make the difference. Mycroft groaned and fell back on the bed. He set himself to pleasuring both of them in earnest, relishing the feel of him hot and heavy on his tongue. Sucking and licking he did his put of practice best to bring Mycroft right to the edge. From the grip in his hair, and the appreciative noises escaping his lover's lips, he felt confident he was succeeding. 

"If you don't want this to end shortly, you'll need to stop soon," Mycroft panted, gently tugging at his hair.

Greg definitely did want more so reluctantly he relinquished his newly found prize, before pulling Mycroft's trousers and pants off completely. Standing up he was pulled into another kiss by a now sitting Mycroft who took the opportunity to help Greg out of his own pants and trousers. 

"Come up here with me," Mycroft said, pulling Greg onto the bed with him. They landed in a tangle of limbs, setting off another wave of giggles. Then kisses, then even more kisses as they rearranged themselves into a more comfortable position.

Face to face once more, Mycroft kissed his way around Gregory's neck spending time at that one particular spot that reduced him to incoherency, using his distraction to flip Gregory on his back and straddled him. 

"That's cheating," Gregory said even as pressed his erection into Mycroft's. 

"As we're both winning I fail to see how that matters, Gregory," Mycroft replied as he reached over to the nightstand to retrieve the lube he kept in the top drawer. "Do we need a condom?"

"Only if you want it for the mess."

"I rather think I'll enjoy making a mess with you," said Mycroft as he flipped the cap open and poured some lube in his hand quickly closing it before tossing it aside. He was warming it in his hands when Gregory spoke up.

"Ummmmm, I don't mind bottoming, but I haven't prepared today, so..." 

Mycroft smiled widely before leaning down to kiss him. "Same and same so it's a good thing I have something else in mind for us this evening."

"I leave myself in your capable hands then."

"An apt choice of words, my dear."

Mycroft shifted back so their erections aligned, then took them both between his hands. Greg groaned and gripped his hips. Mycroft leaned down laying kisses across Gregory's chest as he began stroking them at a langorous pace. His lover made the most delicious noises as he took his time learning the taste of his skin, the texture of his nipples, the feel of him in his hands. Soon though, it wasn't enough. Silently vowing that he would, in the very near future, devote an entire evening to the task of exploring his Gregory's body, he gave his lover one last kiss before sitting back up. 

Increasing the speed and pressure of his hands Mycroft catalogued the expressions that crossed Gregory's face as he set about taking both of them apart. It wasn't long before Gregory was thrusting up into his grip. Mycroft couldn't keep himself responding in kind, their combined movements adding another level to their pleasure. Soon that was all there was, Mycroft's entire being focussed on nothing but the sensations he was now experiencing with his beloved. When Gregory added his own hands Mycroft tumbled over into bliss painting their chests with his come, Gregory joining him shortly after. 

Mycroft almost toppled backward when Gregory abruptly sat up and kissed him hard. He continued kissing him until Mycroft feared they might end up stuck together. Gently pushing him back on the bed, Mycroft extricate himself and went to the bathroom to clean up. He returned with a wet flannel, cleaning off Gregory's chest before tossing it in the hamper and climbing back into bed with Gregory. 

"That was well worth the wait, love."

"Indeed, my dear, though I'm glad we won't have to wait any longer."

They lay there in each other's arms, Mycroft wallowing in the bliss of being held by such a wonderful man. Idly he stroked his fingertips along Gregory's chest and arms, fascinated at the goosebumps that began appearing as they cooled off.

"We should probably get under the covers," said Gregory.

"Probably," Mycroft agreed, starting to feel the chill himself. Even so it was another ten minutes before either of them moved. Eventually settled beneath the blankets, with the lights turned out, Mycroft shared the sweetest kiss he had ever known before falling asleep with his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for sticking with me! I hope you enjoyed the penultimate chapter of this tale.


End file.
